What He Does Best
by curlybean
Summary: Neal runs, Peter finds him. That's what they do best, right? Along the way, they just might find a few other things they're good at. Also includes some flashbacks into the time Neal and Ellen spent in Witness Protection.
1. Chapter 1

What He Does Best

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><p>Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and the wonderful people at USA Network. I am merely playing in their lovely little sandbox. No copyright infringement intended.<p>

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

Author's note: This story contains flashbacks to when Neal was in Witness Protection. These flashbacks will refer to Neal as Danny Brooks, his WitSec name, so I hope this doesn't confuse any of you. I hope you enjoy the story.

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><p>Neal Caffrey did what he did best. What he had always done best….he ran.<p>

As he ran, he wondered, not for the first time, why he was so good at running. Was it just in his nature? Was it something inborn in him? Something that generations of Caffreys had excelled at for hundreds of years? Or was it something he had learned to do throughout his life as a means of self-protection? Nature vs. Nurture…which one was it? Or was it maybe just a little bit of both? Whatever the reason, he really wished that he wasn't so good at it.

Running had always felt a little bit like giving up to him. _A person usually ran from things as a last resort,_ _right? When there wasn't any other option but to give in_. And Neal definitely didn't think of himself as someone who gave up easily. That contradicted everything he believed about himself, everything he hoped to be true about the man he had grown to be.

For as long as he could remember, his life had been complicated. He figured that there were probably happy days in the beginning, _before_ his family fell apart, but he didn't really remember them. His earliest memories were mostly just elusive feelings of happiness where his mother and father worked together to make him feel safe and loved. These memories were so vague that he really didn't even believe that they could be real.

His more concrete memories of childhood were fraught with uncertainty, instability, and discontent. He had grown up believing that his father had died when he was three years old, leaving him with a mother who was unstable and barely able to take care of herself, let alone a child. If it hadn't been for his Aunt Ellen, Neal was sure that he wouldn't have survived his childhood.

Growing up in Witness Protection as Danny Brooks had definitely helped to sculpt Neal into an excellent con man. He spent many afternoons- when he should have been in school- in a nearby pool hall, honing his skills as an excellent pool player and hustler. He had quickly taught himself how to forge his mom's writing, making the attendance office at his school think that he was the sickest child they have ever schooled. The proprietor of the pool hall tried unsuccessfully to keep the boy away, but eventually he just gave up.

It wasn't until Aunt Ellen followed him one day and figured out what he was doing that he stopped going to the pool hall. He still cringed at the memory of his Aunt Ellen grabbing him by the ear and walking him out of the pool hall and all the way home, lecturing him the whole way. Once he was home, he listened as Ellen explained everything to his mother, who didn't seem too bothered by the idea of her nine year old son becoming a pool hustler. That day wasn't the first time his mother and aunt had had a colossal argument over the appropriate ways to raise a child, but it definitely was one that stood out in Neal's mind.

By the end of the argument, his mother had thrown Ellen out of the house and then spent the next hour yelling at him for causing so much trouble. Once she was done yelling, she sent Danny to his room with several stinging smacks to his backside, her words ringing in his ears.

"_You're more trouble than your worth sometimes."_

These words echoed loudly in his head, as tears fell down his face, and for the first time, Danny ran.

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><p>Neal remembered that day so clearly, even though it had been more than two decades. He ran as far and as fast as he could that night, finally stopping on the outskirts of town. Once he had stopped, he realized how hungry, tired, and cold he was. He hadn't taken the time to grab a coat before he left, so he had nothing more that the light sweatshirt he had been wearing. The worst part was that everything happened before dinner, so it had been almost seven hours since he had had anything to eat.<p>

Knowing that he wasn't ready to go home, yet not knowing what else to do, he walked over to a nearby building and sat down, leaning against the brick wall. The ground was damp from an earlier rain and he could feel the dampness seeping through his jeans. Even though the dampness was uncomfortable, Danny didn't have the strength to get up. Closing his eyes, he tried to push away the echoes of his mother's words, but in the silence they just seemed to grow louder and louder, until he finally felt the truth of them sink into his bones. Finally giving in, the exhausted boy fell into a fitful sleep.

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><p>Neal wasn't proud of the fact that he ran when things got sticky, but he did see the intelligence behind such an act. Running wasn't always a desperate, cowardly deed. In fact, sometimes it was a well calculated plan, executed at the most opportune moment. A successful con artist realized the value of a good escape plan in any situation. There was definitely nothing wrong with being well prepared for any and every possibility.<p>

Neal could remember a multitude of times when running had worked well for him, the first time notwithstanding. That particular experience was one that he wished he could burn from his memory. By the time he woke up hours later, Danny had been shivering violently, completely soaked by the rain pouring down. Slowly climbing to his feet, he realized that there was a car parked across the road and that someone was watching him through the window. As fear shot through him, he watched as the door to the car opened and a man climbed out.

"Hey, kid! What are you doing over there?"

When he didn't answer, the man stepped around the door and started walking across the road. Seconds later, he was standing in front of Danny.

"I asked you a question, boy! What are you doing here? This is private property."

Danny's words came out in a stutter, his small body shivering from the cold. "I-I-I was j-j-just r-resting. I d-didn't know th-this was p-p-private property."

"What are you doing out here all alone?" the stranger asked. "You're awfully young, aren't you?'

"I-I'll just g-go," Danny said, as he turned to walk away.

"Wait a minute," the stranger said, grabbing him by the arm. "I'm not going to just let you take off by yourself. It's raining and it's almost two o'clock in the morning, so either I can give you a ride home, you can call someone to come and get you, or I can call the cops. Your choice, kid."

Danny knew that there was no way he was getting into a car with a complete stranger and there was no way he wanted the cops to get involved. Thinking he had no other choice, he agreed to call someone to pick him up. A few minutes later, he found himself standing in a small kitchen, warily eyeing the stranger standing a few feet away as he called the only person he knew he could trust.

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><p>Thirty minutes later, Danny stiffened at the sight of the small car pulling into the driveway. He watched as Ellen stepped out of the car and ran up to the front door. As soon as her frantic knocking was answered and the man had led her into the kitchen, Danny found himself wrapped up tightly in her arms.<p>

"Danny Brooks! Do you have any idea how worried I was when your mom called and told me you had run off? What were you thinking, young man? Why would you do such a thing?"

Danny could feel the tears falling down his face again and wondered when he had turned into such a crybaby. "I'm sorry, Aunt Ellen. After you left, mom and I got into a big fight and I had to get out of there."

"Danny, you should have come to me! I'm always here for you. You know that, right?" Ellen searched Danny's face, hoping to see that he really did know that she would always be there for him. She knew that things with his mother were not as they should be, and she wanted him to understand that she would do anything for him.

"I know," Danny answered. "I just got so mad and I needed to get out of there. I didn't even think about where I was going, Aunt Ellen. I just ran."

Ellen pulled Danny into another hug. "Well, that's not okay, sweetie. You should never just run off without a plan of some sort. That just leads to you putting yourself into unnecessary danger."

After a few more minutes of talking, they both thanked the man who had watched over Danny, before heading out to the car. Danny climbed into the car, trying to prepare himself for the expected Aunt Ellen lecture as he buckled his seat belt. Neal could remember vividly that she didn't disappoint that night. By the time they had reached his house, Danny's ears had been burning viciously from the scathing lecture.

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><p>As Neal ran, he thought about the fact that Peter's lectures were usually just as scathing as Ellen's had ever been. He was usually mortified to find himself reverting back to his childhood self in the face of one of Peter's lectures. His face would turn red, his ears would burn, and he could never stop himself from internally fidgeting, as Peter expounded in explicit detail every single thing he had done wrong. By the time Peter was done lecturing, Neal wanted nothing more than to crawl into the nearest corner and bury his face in his hands. Of course, Neal was a rather adept con man, so he was usually able to stay calm and unruffled on the outside, never giving Peter the pleasure of knowing how ruffled he truly was. This, of course, drove Peter absolutely crazy.<p>

At the moment, Neal actually wished that he was sitting in Peter's office, listening as Peter's lecture voice droned on and on. Hell, he even wished that he was sitting in a jail cell somewhere, safe and sound behind the locked cell doors. Either of those options had to be better than what he was currently facing. Either of those options had to be better than the fact that he was on the run again, and this time it was without the relief of knowing that Peter actually understood why he was running.

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><p>Author's note: I would love to hear what you all think of this story. Should I continue? Or just leave it as a one-shot? I have a few ideas of where I could take it, if you're all interested at all. Oh, and I hope the DannyNeal stuff wasn't too confusing. I tried to make it as clear as possible, but it wasn't easy. Thanks for reading, y'all.


	2. Illuminated

What He Does Best

Chapter 2

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><p>Peter Burke hadn't always wanted to be an FBI agent. Truthfully, in fact, his heart's desire had always been to be a professional baseball player. He made his way through college, eventually finishing with a degree in accounting, and playing college baseball all four years. Upon graduating, he was drafted onto a minor league baseball team, and it seemed that all of his dreams were coming true. Unfortunately, that particular dream had an expiration date, and only two weeks into spring training he suffered an injury that was potentially career-threatening.<p>

Under pressure to make a decision that would affect the rest of his life, Peter returned home and had a much needed conversation with his father. Peter Burke's father was the greatest man he had ever known. His code of ethics and morals was something that Peter always strived to live up to, wanting nothing more than to be the type of man that his father would be resolutely proud of. It wasn't always easy to live up to those expectations, but Richard Burke's approval meant more to Peter than anything.

After much consideration, where the doctor's concern of his recent injury leading to irreparable damage in the future was greatly discussed, Peter decided that it was time to give up his dream of playing professional baseball. Realizing that he was now faced with the prospect of sitting behind a desk crunching numbers for the rest of his life, Peter quickly decided that he needed another option. He spent the next several months talking with his friends and with his father's friends, hoping that _something _would spark his interest.

It wasn't until he went to a career fair at his alma mater that inspiration struck him. He sat through several different recruiting presentations, hoping that he would find his true calling. _Teaching?_ That was a definite no, as kids usually made Peter rather nervous. _Nursing? _Another definite no! The thought of dealing with bodily fluids for the rest of his life made his stomach turn. _How about becoming a Lineman?_ Nope, he was afraid of heights. _Fireman_? That was a possibility, but he didn't think it was really the thing for him. The last presentation he went to seemed unlikely, as well, but it wasn't too long before Peter realized that his interest was definitely stirred. _Could he see himself as an FBI agent? _As he listened to the agent speak of all the possibilities and opportunities within the Bureau, he could feel a spark of excitement ignite within him. By the time Peter left the career fair, he knew exactly what he was going to do with his life.

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><p>To say that Peter Burke was good at his job was a complete and total understatement. From the moment he stepped foot inside the training grounds at Quantico to the present time, Peter had excelled at whatever was expected of him. That this excellence had been accomplished with a quiet humbleness wasn't unexpected by those who knew Peter. He went about his business with the least amount of fanfare he could manage, electing to fly under the radar and get the job done as quickly and quietly as possible.<p>

During his training at Quantico, Peter had been leaning toward working with the Organized Crime unit, but it quickly became apparent that this work was much too violent for him. Instead, he set his eyes on the White Collar division, drawn in by the fact that these crimes were mostly non-violent and the individuals carrying out these crimes were much more intelligent than the common criminal. In Peter's mind, they were much more exciting to catch because of their intelligence and he found that he loved nothing more than to delve into the minds of these intelligent criminals. Had he known that that particular appeal would lead him on the greatest chase of his career, he might have had second thoughts. On the other hand, chasing Neal Caffrey was exactly the sort of thing he loved the most. And, as it turned out, chasing Neal Caffrey was what he did best.

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><p>He had spent more than three years of his life chasing the young criminal they had, unfortunately, dubbed James Bonds. If he had known at the time how much that moniker would delight Neal, he would have come up with something far less flattering. In those three years, he had learned as much as he could about the young man, but there was so much that he never understood. His team couldn't find any information on the man before he turned eighteen. It was like he never even existed, which only served to fuel Peter's obsessive search even more.<p>

Eventually, his obsession started to interfere with his marriage, but Elizabeth was fairly understanding about the situation. Something about the young man was endearing to her. Maybe it was the way he would send birthday and anniversary cards to everyone on the team, especially to Peter. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he would send cookies to the agents when they were on a stakeout. He had even sent an expensive bottle of wine once, frustrating Peter with his audacity. Sure, he was a criminal, but Peter and Elizabeth both knew that he wasn't a bad person, really. More than likely, he was just a _very _misguided young man, in need of proper role models.

All in all, the day that Peter arrested Neal Caffrey was a day of mixed emotions for the agent. Peter knew that the young man deserved to be punished. After all, he was a criminal. But the thought of such a brilliant, creative mind being locked up in a jail cell seemed such a waste. He often found his mind wandering to thoughts of what Neal could have accomplished if he had taken a different path. The kid would have excelled at whatever he put his mind to and his potential was limitless.

As Neal served his time in prison, Peter often found himself thinking of him. Of course, the monthly cards from the kid made sure that he was never far from Peter's thoughts. Peter, of course, didn't reply to the letters, thinking that that wasn't befitting of a senior FBI agent.

The months before Neal escaped from prison, the letters had stopped. Peter had been involved in another high profile case involving a man they had dubbed The Dutchman and he barely had time to think about his wife, much less the fact that a criminal he had put behind bars more than three years before had stopped writing to him. He had been completely taken aback when he learned that Neal had escaped with only four months left on his sentence. _What was the kid thinking?_

Of course, he quickly found out exactly what Neal had been thinking, because the minute it was figured out that Neal had escaped, they had called him. It hadn't taken him long to track the kid down, really. Peter figured that anything Neal was up to had to do with Kate, so taking that into consideration, he found Neal sitting in an empty apartment, staring at an empty bottle of Bordeaux. He had never seen the kid looking so lost and lonely, and his heart broke for the young man.

What happened next still perplexed Peter. Suddenly, he found himself listening to the kid's crazy plan to have Peter slap a tracking anklet on him, so that he could help catch the Dutchman. What was even crazier was the fact that Peter was considering it. They had come to a complete standstill in their investigation of the Dutchman, and Peter was desperate enough to try anything. And Elizabeth had so nicely reminded him that Neal was smart. _"You like smart, remember?"_ she had asked him. And, of course, he really did like smart.

Now, it had been almost four years since that fateful day. Neal had helped Peter and his team catch the Dutchman, cementing Neal's deal to become a confidential informant for the FBI. Of course, that deal included a tracking anklet with a two mile radius, but it was a deal that seemed to work for both of them.

They had quickly discovered that they worked really well together, and everyone watched as Peter's closure rate skyrocketed. They had a few snags in their relationship, of course. After all, Peter was a by-the-book kind of guy and Neal was a color-outside-the-lines kind of guy. Peter often had to rein Neal in, and for the most part, the kid listened to him. Neal, on the other hand, had taught Peter that not everything was black and white.

Through the course of their time together, their relationship had gone through many changes. They often didn't trust each other, but like Peter had once said to a room full of FBI agents, even if there wasn't trust, there was always faith. Nothing had proven this more clearly than the whole situation with Peter's mentor, Agent Kramer.

When Agent Kramer let his true colors shine through, revealing his plan to either see Neal back in prison or take him back to DC to work with him, Peter had realized just how far he was willing to go to protect Neal. He had given the young man the signal to run. He had allowed Neal to escape an undeserved sentence, even if it meant that his own career was put in severe jeopardy. For the first time, he had truly realized how important Neal was to him, and that had been a life-changing moment for the agent.

While Neal was gone, Peter spent a lot of his time analyzing their relationship. He couldn't put a definite label on it, because there were just too many facets to consider. They were, of course, partners and friends, but, he knew that they were much more than that, too. Somewhere along the line, Peter had come to think of Neal as family. At first, it was a big brother/little brother kind of thing, but if Peter were honest with himself, he would admit that he usually saw Neal as much more than even that. Somewhere along the way, Neal had become like a son to him.

He knew that the age difference between them really didn't support that, but the feelings he had for Neal had nothing to do with age. Peter had always been rather mature for his age, and Neal was obviously, despite his intelligence, much more child-like. Well, maybe he was closer to being an impulsive, hormonal, rebellious teenager who knew exactly which of Peter's buttons to push on a daily basis.

This realization had rocked Peter's whole world. He suddenly felt an immense, soul crushing sense of responsibility for Neal and knew that nothing was more important than bringing the boy home where he belonged. Again, Peter had jeopardized his whole career for Neal and he had paid dearly for his decision to do whatever it took to bring him home. Once Neal had returned, a little worse for wear after being shot by Peter's fellow agent, Peter found himself demoted down to the Evidence Warehouse, otherwise known as the basement level of the FBI. He didn't regret his decision, though. In his mind he knew that he had done the only thing he could have done. Somewhere along the line, Neal had become more important to him than his career. He would gladly go back to crunching numbers behind a desk if it meant that Neal was safe and sound. He would gladly sell hot dogs in the park if meant that Neal was treated fairly.

Of course, this realization didn't fix everything. Peter still found Neal to be frustratingly irresponsible and impulsive at times. He still found himself lecturing the kid time and time again on his choices. And boy, were those lectures exasperating. Neal would sit in front of him, looking completely unruffled except for a small blush that usually crept up his neck, while Peter yelled and lectured relentlessly. By the time he was done, Peter usually felt like crawling over to the corner and banging his head against the wall in frustration. He knew that Neal probably tuned out at least half of what he had said and the other half he would completely disregard the next time around. Peter suddenly found himself feeling bad about every bit of trouble he had gotten himself into when he was a teenager. He knew now how frustrated his father must have felt at times.

At the moment, Peter was trying to keep his frustration level under control. He had received a call from Jones a few minutes earlier, telling him that Neal was currently outside of his two-mile radius and that his anklet seemed to be malfunctioning. Peter had no idea what was going on. Neal had left work early, claiming that he wasn't feeling well, or so he had said. Peter had wanted to pry a little, but he knew that Neal deserved some privacy. Now, he found himself wishing that he _had_ pried, at least a little bit.

After several calls to Neal's phone, which hadn't been answered, Peter sent Jones over to check out Neal's apartment, hoping that the kid had just fallen asleep. He also sent Diana to track Mozzie down, just in case Neal wasn't at home. Once they were on their way, he sat down at his computer to try to track Neal's anklet. To his complete horror, Neal's tracking anklet had been completely deactivated. The thought of Neal being out there all alone and with no way to track him was almost too much for Peter to handle. _What was going on?!_

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><p>Author's note: Wow! For some reason, the desire to continue this story was completely overwhelming. I really have no idea where it's going, but it's demanding to be written. Please don't expect daily updates, but I couldn't resist posting this one as soon as I finished. I know these first two chapters aren't as long as my usual ones, but I'm sure they will get longer as we go along.<p>

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I would love to hear your thoughts on the story so far. Thank you so much for giving another one of my stories a try. I hope I can live up to your expectations. Thanks for reading!


	3. The Art of Losing

What He Does Best

Chapter 3

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><p>Author's note: Just a reminder that Neal will be referred to as Danny in the parts dealing with his childhood. Hope this doesn't confuse you. Also, there is a small mention of spanking in this chapter, but absolutely no details of said event.<p>

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><p>Looking back on the day he was having, Neal realized that it had been doomed from the start. He had gone to bed rather late the night before, thanks to Mozzie and several bottles of wine, and as a result had overslept that morning. Usually, he was waiting outside for Peter to pick him up for work, but instead Peter had nearly knocked the door down, trying to wake Neal up when he didn't answer his calls. He had jumped in the shower and dressed as quickly as he could, but Peter still seemed fairly annoyed.<p>

By the time they had reached the office, Neal had been forced to sit through a mini lecture on responsibility and accountability. He remembered thinking that he had really wanted to shove those two words up Peter's nose before they were even halfway to the office.

Once they were settled in the office, Peter reminded Neal that there were several case reports that needed to be finished. Neal tried to pawn it off onto some junior agent, but a quick glare from Peter prompted him to rethink that idea. Hours later, he was still diligently working on the reports and nursing the beginnings of a spectacular headache.

Lunch had been a complete disaster, too, starting with the argument between Neal and Peter as to where to eat. Peter wanted to just hit one of the hot dog stands out in front of the building, but Neal wanted to go to a decent restaurant- one that actually had utensils and dishes. After about ten minutes of arguing, Neal found himself sitting outside of the FBI building by the fountain with a New York City hot dog in his hand. He watched in clear repugnance at the way Peter scarfed down his own hot dog, wondering how the man had ever landed a woman as classy as Elizabeth.

Just as they were heading back into the FBI building, Neal saw something that shook him to his very core. He thought he had heard someone call out his name and when he looked around, he was shocked to see someone from his long ago past, standing just feet away from him. In his shock, he hadn't even realized that the man had called him by the name of Danny, instead of Neal.

Thinking back on it now, Neal realized that he had been completely off his game. For so long, he had always kept himself in check, but for some reason this time he had been caught completely off guard. Peter knew about Danny Brooks…. to a certain degree, but Neal knew that there was still so much that his partner didn't know. He also knew that if he had anything at all to do with it, it would stay that way. There were things in Neal's past that were better left unknown.

Ignoring the man who had called out to him, Neal had followed Peter into the building, hoping that it was all just a mistake. _Maybe the man had been calling out for another Danny._ _Maybe Neal had mistakenly identified the man as someone he had prayed that he would never see again._ _Or, maybe the man was there to apologize for all of the agony he had put him through all those years ago. _

Whatever the reason, Neal had walked away as quickly as he could.

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><p>The rest of the afternoon hadn't been much better than the morning, much to Neal's disappointment. By the time he had finished his reports and had sat through a long and tedious staff meeting, his headache had grown to epic proportions. He had found it extremely hard to sit still throughout the meeting and had been the recipient of several menacing glares from Peter, so when the torturous meeting was finally over, Neal hadn't been surprised when Peter called him into his office.<p>

Peter, of course, quickly started lecturing Neal again on responsibility and accountability, but Neal had completely tuned him out. After several minutes, Peter had realized that Neal was paying even less attention than normal, and for the first time thought that maybe something besides boredom was bothering the young man. At that point, Neal felt as if his head might actually explode, so he did the only thing he could do…..he admitted to Peter that he wasn't feeling well and asked to go home early.

Peter looked like he wanted to question the man further, but luckily for Neal, he didn't. He could tell that his partner wasn't feeling well, but he also felt that something else was bothering him. Neal wished now, with everything he had in him, that Peter would have been his usual nosy self. Maybe then, he wouldn't be in the situation that he was currently in.

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><p>Once Neal had left the FBI building, he attempted to hail a cab. The first three cabs that drove by were already taken, but one finally stopped for him, much to his relief. Sinking into the back seat, Neal gave the driver his home address and then closed his eyes and laid his head back against the seat. He kept his eyes closed for several long minutes, trying to breathe through the throbbing ache inside his head. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be working.<p>

Opening his eyes, Neal realized that they were in a part of New York that he wasn't familiar with. Sitting up straighter, he caught the driver's eye in the rear view mirror.

"Excuse me, I think you're going the wrong way. I said 351 Riverside Drive."

Neal felt the first flutter of unease stir within him when the driver completely ignored him. The man focused his eyes back on the road, before flicking them back to the mirror.

"Did you hear me?" Neal asked. "I said I think you're going the wrong way."

When the man still didn't answer, Neal realized that something was going on. "Stop the car," he said firmly, but of course, the man ignored him. Neal quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket, intending to call Peter, but before he could do that, the man slammed on the brakes, causing the car to jerk to a stop. Neal wasn't prepared for that and his phone flew out of his hand, falling on the other side of the cab. Before he could reach for it, the driver turned around, and Neal suddenly found himself face to face with a powerful looking hand gun.

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><p>Neal hated guns. It wasn't that he was afraid of them, really. In fact, Neal had a robustly healthy respect for guns, something that had been repeatedly drilled into him by his Aunt Ellen. His fear had more to do with the effect a gun had on a man's ego. Guns made men feel powerful and entitled…..invincible even. Men with guns didn't have to operate under the same rules as other men, not that Neal usually operated under those rules, either, but for an entirely different reason. Guns were dangerous and men with guns were unpredictable.<p>

Neal remembered the first time he had ever held a gun. He didn't know it at the time, but both his mother and his Aunt Ellen kept guns at home to protect them from the men that his father had been working for. From an early age, Ellen had told him that he was never to touch a gun and she made sure that he understood the consequences of disobeying. Neal, of course, had to learn the lesson the hard way.

He remembered coming home from school one day when he was eight to find his mother gone. It wasn't very often that he came home to an empty house, but Neal didn't mind. Things between him and his mother were often so awkward, mostly due to the fact that everything about him apparently reminded her of his father. They spent most evenings either arguing or trying to stay out of each other's way, which didn't work too well in such a small house.

Neal had happy memories of his childhood, but very few of them involved his mother. She was merely a shadow of the woman she used to be before their lives had been turned upside down and Neal was young enough that he really didn't remember that version of his mom. All of his happy childhood memories he owed to his Aunt Ellen. She had always been the one constant thing in his young life and without her, Neal knew that he would have simply withered away inside.

That being said, Ellen was a force to be reckoned with when she was angry and Neal had never seen her as angry as she was the day that she caught him holding his mother's gun. He had gone into his mother's room to look for some money, thinking that he would walk down to the pool hall to get some food, since the cupboards were nearly bare again. Looking in all of the usual places his mother would hide her money, he came up empty-handed, but just before leaving the room, he decided to check under her bed, where he found a small locked box.

Neal's lock-picking skills were something he had developed at an early age, thanks to the fact that their bathroom door had a faulty lock. For some reason, any time the door closed the lock would engage, so both he and his mother had learned to pick the lock. He was much better at it than his mother was and he enjoyed doing it so much that he practiced on other locks, as well.

Sitting on his mother's bed with the locked box in his lap, Neal remembered that it had taken him only a few minutes to open the box. Inside the box, he found quite a bit of money, but he was more interested in the handgun nestled into the stack of bills. He remembered thinking that he should close up the box and put it back under the bed, but even at that early age, his impulsive nature overwhelmed his common sense. Without a second thought, he had taken the gun out of the box and held it in his hand.

He had been surprised at how heavy the gun was, especially since it was so small. Looking around to make sure that no one was watching, he stood up and started aiming the gun at different things. Danny had always had an active imagination and seconds later he was involved in a play-acting scene where he was a heroic cop like his dad, chasing after a criminal. He was so involved in his make-believe scenario that he didn't hear the front door open or hear his Aunt Ellen call his name. He didn't hear her footsteps on the stairs, either, so he was completely surprised when she suddenly appeared in the doorway of his mother's bedroom. He was so surprised, in fact, that he accidently squeezed the trigger of the gun, shooting a bullet straight into his mother's dresser mirror. Before he could process what had happened, Ellen had moved across the room and grabbed the gun out of his hand.

"Danny Brooks, what are you doing?! Where did you get that gun?" Ellen yelled.

"I-I found it," Danny answered. "I'm sorry, Aunt Ellen. I didn't know it was loaded!"

Ellen quickly unloaded the gun before falling down onto the bed, her legs too weak to support her.

"What were you thinking, Danny? You know better than to touch a gun. Don't you remember anything I said?"

"I'm sorry," he pleaded.

"Danny, you could have accidentally shot yourself! You could have shot me or your mother! Guns are not toys, young man. I've told you that a dozen times, at least."

By that time, Danny had been in tears, especially at the thought of accidentally shooting Ellen. What happened next was forever emblazoned in Neal's mind. He remembered Ellen lecturing him for at least thirty minutes, before she upended him over her knee for a well-deserved spanking. By the time she was done, Danny had decided that he would never touch a gun again. Looking back on it, Neal knew that the spanking wasn't the worst part of the whole situation. Knowing that he could have killed Ellen and knowing that he had disappointed her so much were the worst parts for him.

The rest of the evening hadn't been much better, really. By the time Tessa Brooks came home, Ellen was completely worked up. Danny had been sent to his room, but he listened as Ellen yelled at his mother for what seemed like hours for keeping the gun loaded. His mother argued, of course, that the gun had been locked away, but Ellen was still angry.

"You know how he is, Tess. He's impulsive and hasn't yet learned how to corral his curiosity. He's only eight years old. You have to be careful, especially with something like a loaded gun."

By the time they were done arguing, he had been completely exhausted. Neal remembered laying there in the dark, thinking that his mother would surely come in and check on him, but instead he had listened as she walked past his room and into her own room. Minutes later, Ellen had quietly opened his door and he had pretended to be asleep.

* * *

><p>Now, Neal found himself face to face with a very angry man holding a handgun. His phone was still on the floor of the cab and as Neal looked at it, he realized that his tracking anklet was blinking red. A surge of hope erupted at the thought of Peter realizing that he was outside of his radius. He knew that Peter would be trying to track him down within minutes. Unfortunately, the man with the gun also seemed to know this.<p>

Neal was surprised when the man handed him a key that looked like it would fit his anklet.

"Take it off and give it to me," the man demanded.

"Where did you get the key?" Neal asked.

"Never mind that, just do what I said," the man barked as he thrust the gun even further into Neal's face.

Neal took the key and did what he was told. Seconds later, he sat back up, handed over the one thing that would make sure Peter could find him, and watched as the man threw it out of the window where it was sure to be crushed by a passing car.

"Okay, now hand over your phone," the man demanded.

Neal grabbed his phone and handed it over, as well. Now, he felt completely helpless. The man kept the gun trained on him as he considered his next step, looking thoughtfully between Neal and the road in front of him.

"Move over to this side of the car," he finally said, "and slowly open the door. If you do anything other than what I tell you, I'll blow your head off."

Neal didn't doubt the man for a single second. Slowly opening the door, he waited for the man's next direction. Eventually, the man had maneuvered Neal into the driver's seat and he sat next to him with the gun pressing into Neal's head.

"Now, drive," the man barked. "And don't do anything stupid."

Neal drove back onto the road and followed the man's directions. He knew that if he was going to make a move of any kind, he would have to do it soon, but he still didn't have much of a plan. As they drove, the traffic became thinner and thinner, until they were the only car on the road. Twenty minutes into the drive, the man's phone rang and he quickly answered it.

"Yeah, we're almost there," he said into the phone. "Ran into a little problem, but it's all under control now. We should be there in about fifteen minutes."

After hanging up the phone, the man turned back to Neal, jabbing the gun into his neck. "Slow down. You're taking these curves a little too fast," he said.

Neal eased up on the gas, hoping that it was enough to satisfy the man, without giving away too much of his poorly thought out plan. The road they were on was a fairly treacherous road with numerous curves and Neal thought that maybe he could use that to his advantage. Of course, his plan didn't really insure that he would escape unscathed, but for some reason he thought it would be better than the alternative. He had no idea where this man was taking him, or who he was working for, and he really didn't want to wait around and find out. He knew he had to get himself out of the situation, one way or another.

Up ahead, Neal noticed an oncoming curve with warning signs to slow down to twenty-five miles per hour. Instead of slowing down, Neal pressed his foot on the accelerator, hitting the curve at well over fifty miles per hour. Right as he turned into the curve, he slammed on the brakes, causing the car to fishtail before rolling over several times and finally coming to rest against the trunk of a large tree. Even though Neal had been somewhat prepared, his body had been mercilessly beaten against the door and window. His passenger, on the other hand, had been completely blindsided by the crash.

Neal looked over to find the man conscious, but not really aware of what was going on. The gun had been thrown out of the man's hands and Neal searched frantically for it, without any luck. When he couldn't find the gun, he searched even more frantically for a phone, finally finding one wedged under the seat. The man next to him was starting to become more alert, so Neal quickly grabbed the phone and climbed out of the car, figuring that his best bet was to get himself away from the man.

Climbing out of the car, he quickly realized that there was something wrong with his right leg and that his chest felt like it was on fire. He hobbled away from the crash as fast as he could, which really wasn't very fast, and ran into a small copse of trees. Once he felt like he was hidden well enough, he took a few minutes to do a mental inventory of his various injuries. His right leg was hurting quite a bit, but he didn't think it was broken. He was pretty sure that he had several bruised or broken ribs, though, and the left side of his head was bleeding where he had probably struck it against the window. He also could feel the effects of the airbag deploying and the seatbelt restraining him. All in all, he was pretty sore, but thankful to be alive.

After his mental inventory was complete, Neal grabbed the phone, eager to make a call to Peter. Unfortunately, the screen on the phone had been obliterated and Neal felt his heart sink at the thought of the phone not working. He pushed several buttons and was relieved to finally hear a sound from the phone. After several tries to get the number right, he finally heard the beautiful sound of the phone ringing. He was even more relieved when he heard the sound of his partner's voice.

"Special Agent Peter Burke…Who is this?!"

"Peter, it's me. I need…"

Before Neal could say anything else, a shot rang out and he actually felt the bullet whizz by his head. Seconds later, another bullet flew at him, this time sinking into his right shoulder and slamming him into a tree. Upon impact, Neal dropped the phone and slid down to the ground, his head throbbing where he had slammed it against the tree. He could hear his partner's frantic voice, calling out to him over the phone, but he couldn't seem to figure out where the phone had gone. Right before he passed out, Neal was able to string two more words together, hoping that Peter was able to hear him.

"Peter….help…"

* * *

><p>Author's note: I can't believe I actually found time to write in this busy season, but I thought that my awesome, amazing readers deserved a holiday treat. I'm sorry I left you all hanging on a cliff, but I need to get some sleep before I go to work tonight, lol. Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate this joyous holiday. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I would love to hear from all of you.<p>

Thanks for reading!


	4. Finders, Keepers

What He Does Best

Chapter 4

* * *

><p>Warning: Mentions of abuse<p>

* * *

><p>Peter grabbed his phone, hoping against all hope that it was Neal calling him. When he looked at the number, he realized with a sinking heart that he didn't recognize it.<p>

"Special Agent Peter Burke…..Who is this?!"

"Peter, it's me. I need….."

Relief shot through him at the sound of Neal's voice, followed by a quick flash of anger.

"Neal, where the hell are you?!" Peter demanded. His righteous anger quickly turned to terror when he heard the distinct sound of gunfire coming over the phone, followed by a piercing cry from Neal. He wasn't sure, but he thought that maybe Neal had dropped the phone, too.

"NEAL! What's going on?! NEAL!"

Peter frantically threw a pen at the window of his office, hoping to get the attention of one of the agents working down below. He was relieved to see that Diana heard the pen hit the window and was making her way up the stairs as quickly as she could. As he watched her ascending the stairs, he listened desperately to the phone clutched to his ear. He could hear Neal's anxious voice, as well as more gunfire and shouting from another source. His blood ran cold as he heard his partner's voice one last time before the connection ended.

"Peter…help…"

* * *

><p>Neal couldn't believe that he had passed out. Logically, he knew that he had been shot and that he had just been in a roll-over car accident, as well, but he wasn't usually the type of guy that passed out. The only other time he could remember ever passing out was when he was ten and had taken a tumble off of his neighbor's rooftop, landing on her shrubbery bush before bouncing off and landing on his back. According to Ellen, who had seen the whole thing happen, his head had bounced off the ground rather viciously and he had lost consciousness for several minutes.<p>

After staying overnight in the hospital, Neal had gone home with a headache and a bruised back. He also had a bit of a bruised ego after the dressing down he had received from Ellen in front of several of the hospital staff. She wasn't particularly impressed with his antics, especially when she realized what he was doing on the rooftop to begin with. She definitely didn't want to hear any excuses or lies, so he had quickly explained to her how his motorized airplane had landed on the neighbor's roof and he had climbed up to get it down. Of course, Ellen knew that that particular motorized airplane was supposed to be a Christmas present for the boy, who had obviously been snooping in his mother's room again. Neal still remembered the continuation of the lecture he had received once they were home, not to mention the threat to the well-being of his backside if Ellen ever found out that he was snooping again.

All of these thoughts seemed to dart through his mind like lightning, as he tried to gain his bearings. Opening his eyes, he quickly realized that he was in a pitch black room. He could feel a wall behind him, as well as the carpet underneath him, and even though he couldn't see a thing, he knew that the room he was in was really small. It was also really cold.

As he lay there, he did another quick inventory of his injuries, not at all surprised to find that his shoulder hurt like hell. Reaching up to investigate, he was surprised to find that someone had actually taken the time to bandage his wound. _Who would have done that? _

He still felt significant pain in his ribs, head, and leg, too, but other than that, he only felt a general sense of achiness, compounded by the cold that enveloped him. All in all, he figured that he was actually pretty lucky. Well, if you could call being locked in a cold, dark room with a gunshot wound, probable broken ribs, and a concussion lucky, that is.

Once his mental inventory was done, Neal listened intently to the sounds around him. At first, he just heard a gentle susurration, but eventually he could make out the sounds of several different voices and the humming of some sort of machinery. Something about the humming of the machinery struck a chord in Neal and it wasn't long before he was able to recognize it. It was the sound of a printing press.

That sound alone drove Neal to the conclusion of where he was. Well, not necessarily where he was, but at least he knew who was behind it all. Neal shivered at the realization that he was once again firmly in the clutches of Silas Dmitri.

* * *

><p>Once Peter realized that he had lost the connection to Neal, he strode to the door of his office, opening it just as Diana was about to barge through.<p>

"Boss, what's going on? Did you find Neal?"

Peter felt like he was about to lose it, so he forced himself to take several deep breaths before answering his agent. After several long seconds, he was finally back in control.

"He called me, Diana, but something happened. I heard several gunshots and I think he might have been shot."

Diana looked at Peter in horror. "You think?" she asked.

"I heard a gunshot and then I heard Neal cry out, Diana," Peter explained. "It didn't sound good."

Looking down at the agents in the bullpen, Peter searched for Jones.

"Where's Jones?" he finally asked Diana.

"He just called from Neal's apartment," Diana answered. "He said that there's no sign that Neal ran. All of his clothes are there, not to mention a rather large sum of money he found stashed behind some books."

"All of that doesn't matter now," Peter said. "Neal's in trouble and I need every available agent on this."

"Okay, Boss. What do you want us to do first?"

"I need you to check with every precinct. Find out if there have been any calls regarding the sounds of gunshot. I also thought I heard the sound of a train whistle in the background. I know that's a longshot, but see what you can find out. Oh, and have one of the tech guys check out my phone. Maybe they can find out something about the phone Neal was using."

Peter watched in satisfaction as Diana jumped into action, organizing the other agents along the way. He knew that they had very little to go on, but he also knew that his team would stop at nothing to find Neal. As he stood there watching everyone, he geared himself to do the one thing that he did best. He geared himself up to find Neal Caffrey. Again.

* * *

><p>As Neal sat in the dark, cold room, he couldn't stop his mind from replaying every single interaction he had ever had with Silas Dmitri. Neal had been twelve years old the first time he had met Silas, and he remembered taking an instant dislike to the man.<p>

It wasn't unusual for his mother to bring a man home for dinner every once in a while, and for the most part they were nice men. For some reason, though, his mother didn't seem to like the nice ones for very long. Just as Neal had gotten used to one of them, she would break it off, citing various different reasons why it just wouldn't work out with them.

_He's too boring. Too lazy. Too short. Too poor. Too ugly. Too nice. _In reality, they just weren't dangerous or exciting enough for Tessa Brooks. She didn't want someone that liked to stay in at night and watch movies or take long walks on the beach. She wanted someone that would take her out dancing. Someone that rode a motorcycle or drove a fast car. She wanted someone that played outside the limits of the law… a bad boy.

Once she realized that, Neal remembered being subjected to men that were more than just a little scary. Most of them didn't like the fact that she had a kid, so he had learned to either stay in his room or get out of the house as much as he could. Neal didn't like the woman that his mother became when she was around these men, either. He couldn't stand the sound of her fake laughter or the way she acted dumb and silly around them.

The day that Silas Dmitri entered their home was a turning point in Neal's young life. His Aunt Ellen had taken on a new job and the time Neal got to spend with her was cut severely short, causing him to greatly miss her. Her new job also meant that he had to spend more and more time at his own home. He always felt like he was walking on eggshells in his own house, and it was only at Ellen's house that he felt like he could be himself.

Neal remembered he had been sitting at the dining room table with his sketch pad and pencils scattered all around when his mother walked in, leading a very tall, very big, dark-haired man.

"Danny, what are you doing?!" she yelled. "You've made such a mess of my kitchen!"

Neal remembered looking around, trying to find the mess his mother was talking about. All he saw was a glass sitting in the sink and a dish towel lying on the counter. _So much for a mess_, he thought to himself.

Before he could defend himself, though, his mother sat down at the table next to him. "Silas," she said in a sickeningly sweet voice. "This is my boy…..Danny, this is Silas."

Danny stood up and stuck out his hand, trying to remember his manners. The large man grabbed his hand, squeezing it harder than was necessary as he looked Danny over.

"He's a scrawny little thing, isn't he?" the man said with a cold grin.

Danny glared at the man, offended at being called scrawny. He was rather small for his age, but he definitely didn't think he was scrawny.

"Next to you, I think even Arnold Schwarzenegger would look scrawny," Danny grumbled.

A thunderous look immediately crossed over the man's face. "I think you need to teach your boy a little something about respecting his elders, Tess," the man growled.

Tessa stood up and crossed back over to Silas, placing her hands on his chest and looking up into his eyes, before turning back to her son.

"Apologize for your rudeness, right now, young man!" she demanded.

"Why?!" Danny exploded. "He started it, mom. He called me scrawny!"

"Danny Brooks, so help me…you had better drop the attitude, young man!"

Danny knew when he was cornered, so he quickly offered up a rather insincere apology. Luckily for him, no one seemed to notice that he didn't mean a word of it. Once he was done, his mother told him to clean up the mess on the table and then to go to his room.

"Wait a minute….." Silas interrupted. "Did you draw these, kid?"

Danny didn't feel like answering, so he just nodded. He cringed on the inside when Silas picked up each sketch and stared at it for several long seconds.

"You drew these yourself," he said, as if he were trying to convince himself of that. "Without any help….."

Danny nodded, wondering what the big deal was. He knew he was a good artist, but these particular sketches were really just doodles. He had no idea why the man was so interested in them and he really didn't want to stay and find out. Without another word, he gathered up everything on the table and left the room as fast as he could. There was something about Silas Dmitri that scared Danny.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately for Danny, his mother seemed to really like Silas Dmitri and the man became an increasingly large part of their lives. Danny had learned early on that the man wasn't afraid to use his hands to keep him in line, but even more devastating than that was the fact that his mother did nothing to stop him. In fact, whenever Silas was around, his mother treated Danny in much the same way.<p>

Danny's response to that was to make sure that he spent as little time as possible at home. Hoping that his Aunt Ellen wouldn't find out, he started hanging around the pool hall again in the afternoons. He had decided that maybe it was a good idea to start stashing some money away, just in case he found himself needing to run, so he quickly set up a hustling scam with some of the hall's most frequent patrons. Anytime someone new wandered in, Danny would spring into action, and by the time he was done, his pockets would be filled with bills.

Unfortunately, though, there always came a time when he had to go home. Neal could remember those walks home, constantly praying that Silas Dmitri wouldn't be there when he got home. More often than not, the man would be and Danny would try to slip through the door and head straight to his room.

When Danny was thirteen, things changed for the worst. To his complete and utter horror, his mother and Silas Dmitri were married. Neal could remember how his Aunt Ellen had spent hours trying to talk some sense into his mother, but Tessa Brooks had made up her mind. She loved Silas, she reasoned. Silas was good to her and to Danny, she said. Silas would be the father that Danny so desperately needed, she argued.

Danny tried to convince his mother and aunt that he would be better off if he lived with Ellen, but his mother quickly refused.

"You're my son and you belong here with me, Danny. With Silas here, we're going to be a new family."

Danny argued, but his mother was adamant that her new family would stay together. With that, Danny's new nightmare began.

* * *

><p>It wasn't long before he found out what kind of man Silas Dmitri really was. After the wedding, Silas started bringing some of his friends to the house, where they would sit around the kitchen table for hours, drinking vodka and whiskey. Danny had no idea what they were talking about, but he did notice that they would often have blueprints to some building spread out on the table in front of them. One night, after the men had left, Danny went downstairs to get a drink and noticed that the blueprint was still spread out on the table. Looking around to make sure that Silas wasn't anywhere around, he looked at it closely, trying to figure out what it was.<p>

From what Danny could tell, it looked like the blueprints to a bank. He wondered what Silas and his cohorts could be planning, but he knew better than to ask. Instead, Danny started to snoop around a little more, anytime Silas had his friends over. He was usually pretty good at snooping, but of course his luck was bound to run out eventually. The night it happened was one of the scariest nights of his life.

Danny, by that time, had finally figured out that Silas and his friends were planning on robbing a bank to get at some sort of valuable bond that was stored in its vaults. Even though he knew that what they were planning was wrong, he couldn't help but feel intrigued by the whole thing. As he listened, he figured out that their plan was to replace the bond with a counterfeit one, making it less likely that someone would find out if they were able to get in and out without notice.

Danny was hiding behind the couch, listening to everything they were talking about, when it happened. One minute he was kneeling down, trying to control his breathing so as not to give himself away, and the next minute he was being lifted up by the collar of his pajamas by a man that had apparently just come out of the bathroom.

The look on Silas Dmitri's face when he realized that his step-son was spying on them was terrifying. Before Danny could do anything, Silas had crossed the room and backhanded him across the face. The slap had been so powerful that the man holding onto Danny had lost his grip, causing the boy to fall to the ground. For several long seconds, Danny stayed on the floor, curled up into a tight ball, until Silas finally picked him up and carried him out of the room. That had been the first time that Silas Dmitri had taken his belt to Danny.

* * *

><p>As Neal shivered in the cold, the memories of his time with Silas nearly overwhelmed him. He had always thought of himself as a competent, strong man, but the presence of Silas Dmitri seemed to transform him back into his thirteen year old self.<p>

He suddenly felt powerless and defenseless and he knew that if he were to survive this ordeal, he needed to get a grip on himself. Yes, Dmitri was a powerful man, but Neal had proven time and again that he was smarter. He had been in worse predicaments and had found ways to escape, so as he sat in the dark room, shivering so harshly that his bones were starting to ache even more, he cleared his head and tried to figure out a way out of his current situation. His only consolation was knowing that Peter was doing his very best to find him.

* * *

><p>"Any luck?" Peter asked Diana as soon as she walked into his office.<p>

"Not yet, boss. You'd be surprised at how many calls were made reporting the sound of gunshots at that time. The list is long, but I have at least ten agents checking on every report."

Peter dropped down into his chair, frustrated at the fact that they really had nothing to go on. Before anything else could be said, Jones flew through the door with a strange look.

"Peter, I don't know if this is anything important, but Precinct 34 just got a report of a taxi cab being stolen a block from here. The driver said that a man with a gun forced him out of his cab and then drove off with it. The tech guys are trying to track the GPS right now.

Peter jumped up and followed Jones out of the office. He had a feeling that they finally had a lead!

"_Hang in there, Neal,_" he said to himself. "_I'm coming._"

* * *

><p>Neal's head was pounding fiercely and he was doing everything he could not to lose the meager contents of his stomach. His mouth was so dry and he desperately needed to use the bathroom, so all in all, he was completely miserable.<p>

As he tried to keep his mind off of his multiple discomforts, he tried desperately to come up with a plan. Slowly standing up, he walked around the room, trying to figure out where the door was. After almost a complete circuit of the small space, he finally found what he thought was the door. Of course, he wasn't surprised to find that the door had no door handle and no foreseeable way to get to the door hinges, either. He was hoping that maybe they had just stashed him in a spare closet, but it was obvious that this particular space was made to securely hide someone away.

The space itself was no more than an six by six foot space and Neal was thankful that he wasn't prone to claustrophobia. After walking around the small space three separate times, he sat back down next to the door, trying to think through his extremely limited options. Just as he had figured out that his only option was to wait for someone to open the door from the outside, he heard a key being inserted into the lock.

The door opened and Neal was blinded by the bright light that poured into the space. He could tell that someone was standing in the doorway, but until his eyes adjusted he wouldn't be able to see them clearly. Seconds later, this became a moot point, when Neal heard the unmistakable voice of Silas Dmitri.

"Hello, Danny…Did you miss me, son?"

* * *

><p>Author's note: First off, I want to apologize for the wait. Since I left you all with a little bit of a cliffhanger in the last chapter, I really wanted to update quickly. Alas…the holidays were a little busier than expected, so I didn't get a chance. Anyway, I finally found some time to write and I really hope that you enjoy this chapter. Poor Neal has found himself in a little bit of a tight spot, but don't worry…. Peter's doing everything he can to track down his partner.<p>

I'm hoping the back and forth isn't making things too confusing to read. If it is, let me know, okay? I love to hear your thoughts on Silas Dmitri and the story as a whole, too. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. And Happy New Year to you all!


	5. A Little Help, A Little Hope

What He Does Best

Chapter 5

* * *

><p>Peter couldn't believe their change in luck. Once they had the GPS information from the stolen taxicab, they were able to find the location where he had last heard from Neal. Within minutes, Peter and his team were on their way to the location, not knowing what they were going to find.<p>

Peter was terrified that he would find his partner already dead, having bled out while he was waiting for Peter to find him. He was also terrified that he wouldn't find his partner at all. The drive to the location seemed interminable to everyone, but mostly to Peter, who couldn't seem to stop thinking about the last words he had heard from Neal. _"Peter….help…."_

He had known Neal for over eight years, and in that time he could count on two hands the number of times the man had asked for help. The first time, of course, had been when Neal had asked him to consider the idea of allowing him to consult for the FBI. Peter remembered thinking that the young man was completely delusional, if he thought that that particular arrangement would ever work, but then Peter had surprised himself by pushing to have Neal released into his custody.

That arrangement _had _worked and was _still _working, even though there were a few (or a lot of) bumps along the way. Neal definitely attracted trouble and most days required everything Peter had in him to keep the kid on the straight and narrow, as much as he could.

The second time Neal had ever asked for help was when he was looking for Kate. Peter knew that he had let the young man down severely on that point. He thought that Kate was bad news for Neal, and he really didn't want to help find her, thinking that the young man would be better off if he never heard from her again. That had almost led to Neal running away and had ultimately led to his partner almost being killed in the same explosion that had taken Kate's life. Peter didn't think that he could ever truly forgive himself for that.

Neal had also asked for help when it seemed that Agent Fowler from OPR had set him up in a rare diamond heist. For the record, Neal had asked for Elizabeth's help first, because he knew that Peter was convinced that he had something to do with the theft. Peter was ashamed to remember the lack of faith he had had in his partner during that case, and he was grateful that his wife had been there to talk some sense in him.

There had been a few other times where Neal had obviously needed help and Peter had been there to offer it, but for the most part the young man was mostly self-sufficient. Perhaps that was why the desperation he had heard in Neal's last words was so devastating to him. Neal always had a plan, always had an idea forming in his genius mind, but he could tell by the sound of his voice a few hours ago that he was trapped. And he knew that a trapped Neal led to a reckless Neal. He had to find his partner before he did something impulsive and stupid.

* * *

><p>Neal was still trying to get his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the lights outside of the small room he was in as it flooded around him. There was no mistaking who the silhouette belonged to, even if Neal hadn't already identified the voice. He had spent many sleepless nights hiding away from the man who was now standing in front of him.<p>

As his eyes slowly adjusted to the light, Silas Dmitri walked further into the small room, stopping only inches away from Neal. Neal struggled to stand, not wanting to give the man any more of an advantage than he already had.

"Stay down, Danny," Silas said in mock concern. "You're injured."

"My name is Neal," Neal growled. "I'm not Danny anymore. And I wouldn't be injured if it wasn't for your stupid thug."

"Now, now…..There's no reason to be disrespectful and rude, Danny. It's your fault that you got shot, remember? If you would have just acted like a good little boy and let Victor bring you in without a fight, none of this would have happened. As it is, you've cost me a decent car and however much I'll owe my doctor for the house call and supplies to patch you up. You always had a way of making things harder on yourself, boy. I guess you never outgrew that particular character trait."

"What do you want, Silas? Why am I here?" Neal couldn't help the small groan that escaped him as a spasm shot through his shoulder. He hated to show any weakness in front of the man, but he couldn't really help it. After all, he had been shot rather spectacularly just a few hours ago.

"There will be time to talk about that later, Danny," Silas answered. "Right now, I think that you could do with a little rest. I'll have my _thug_ bring you in some food and water, and then you should get some sleep."

"**My name is Neal**," he growled again. "And you can't keep me here, Silas."

"You should know by now, Danny, that I can do whatever I want when it comes to you. You'll do good to remember that." With that, Silas leaned down and ruffled Neal's hair before turning and walking out the door.

Neal suddenly found himself shrouded in darkness again, but this time it was a welcomed sight.

* * *

><p>Once they arrived at the scene, they quickly found the wrecked car. Jones and a few other agents started to process the area around the car, looking for anything that might lead them to which direction the car's passengers had gone. It didn't take long for them to determine that someone had walked away from the car, heading southeast. Jones quickly informed Peter and seconds later they were carefully, but quickly heading into the copse of trees nearby.<p>

Diana was the one that found the place where Neal was shot. Peter ran over to where she was, relieved to see that there wasn't a body lying on the ground. His relief promptly vanished, though, when he saw what looked to be a rather significant amount of blood on the tree trunk and saturating the ground at his feet.

"Damn it!" he swore. "That's a lot of blood! And is that Neal's hair sticking to the trunk?"

"Boss, look at this," Diana said, as she bent down to look at something in the long grass nearby.

Peter looked down to find what could only be the phone that Neal had used to call him. There was some dried blood on the phone and the glass screen had been completely shattered, but Peter hoped that the tech guys would be able to pull some information out of it anyway.

As he looked around some more, Jones hurried up to his side.

"Peter, we have a second set of tire tracks over there. It looks like maybe someone came and picked up Neal and whoever else was here. We followed the tracks back to the road and it looks like they headed east, but that's all we can tell so far. ERU should be here any minute and we can get this scene processed."

"Thanks, Jones," Peter answered quietly. He really didn't know what else to do, seeing as how their lead had promptly dried up for the time being. "Stay here with the team until ERU gets here. Diana and I are going to take a ride up the road, see if anything pops up."

Peter knew it was a long shot, but there was no way he was going to just go back home. His partner was out there somewhere and it was apparent that he had been shot. He wasn't about to give up his search yet. Neal needed him.

* * *

><p>Victor did indeed show up a few minutes after Silas left with a plate of food and a bottle of water. Neal's first inclination was to throw the food in his face, but he knew that he needed to eat to build up his strength. Without saying a word to the man, he took the plate and the bottle from him.<p>

Victor stared down at Neal for several long seconds before finally speaking. "You're lucky that the boss man said we weren't to touch you, boy, or else I'd knock a few of your teeth out. Seems a fair price for the three you cost me when you made me wreck the car."

Neal wished that the light was bright enough to see the man with his teeth knocked out. Hearing that Silas had warned his men not to touch Neal did little to cheer him up, knowing well how much Silas enjoyed dishing out physical punishments himself. His time spent with Silas as he was growing up had left many scars, both physical and mental, and Neal was all too familiar with how the man operated.

After eating the congealed soup and hardened bread, he slowly drank the bottle of water, aware that his stomach was starting to rebel. Between the aching pain in his shoulder and the excruciating stabbing pain in his head, Neal was surprised that he was still conscious. Once he was halfway done with the water, he moved his body gently into the corner of the room and leaned his head against the wall. He had no idea what he was going to do, how he was going to get himself out of this situation, so he closed his eyes and let his consciousness settle into a fragile sleep.

* * *

><p>By midnight, Peter and his team were exhausted. After processing the scene in the woods, their case went cold and Peter had no choice but to call it a night. He and Diana had driven around for hours, looking for something unusual to catch their eye, but nothing happened. After suggesting several times that they head back to the office, to which Peter refused, she finally admitted that she was exhausted and starving. Peter suddenly realized just how long they had been driving around and he agreed to head back into the city.<p>

By the time he arrived at home, he was emotionally, physically and mentally done. He wasn't surprised to find Elizabeth waiting up for him, knowing that she would be just as worried about Neal as he was.

"Any news yet?" she asked the minute he walked in the door.

"Nothing, El," he sighed. "We tracked him to a spot outside of the city, but then the trail went cold. I have a team that's monitoring the area, and every hospital in the greater New York area has been put on alert, but for now I have no idea where to go from here."

"Are you hungry? I could warm up something for you."

"That would be great, hon. I'm going to go take a shower first, okay?"

After planting a quick kiss on his wife's cheek, Peter turned and walked wearily up the stairs, wanting nothing more than to wash off all of the dirt and despair from his body. Once his shower was done, he stepped into the bedroom to find Elizabeth waiting for him with a plate of leftover chicken and rice. She waited for him to climb into his side of the bed and then handed the food to him. Without a word, she climbed into bed next to him and watched as he picked at the food.

"He'll be alright, hon," she whispered. "He's smart, remember? And you'll find him, just like you always do."

"I hope so, El," Peter answered. "I can't lose him."

* * *

><p>When Neal woke up several hours later, he had to add a stiff neck and a sore backside to his growing list of injuries. The coldness of the small room was seeping into his bones and he suddenly realized that he needed to urinate. Badly.<p>

Just as he was considering that he might have to use his empty water bottle as a urinal, the door to the small room creaked open again. A man that Neal had not seen before stood in the doorway for several long seconds before finally speaking.

"Get up!" he demanded.

Neal knew he should just do as he was told, but he didn't want to give in so easily. "Why?"

"I said get up!" The man demanded even louder.

Knowing that he really didn't have much of a choice, Neal tried to get up. Unfortunately, his legs had fallen asleep on the cold floor and his arm was of absolutely no help to him. Before he could try to get his legs to work again, the man stepped into the room and grabbed him by his injured shoulder. Neal couldn't help the cry of pain that escaped him.

Seconds later, the man was dragging him out of the room and Neal was temporarily blinded by the brightness of the room he found himself in. It took several seconds for his eyes to totally adjust to the light, but when they finally did, he looked around carefully.

Neal didn't recognize where he was, but he could tell that he was in an older looking farm house. If he wasn't in so much pain, he might have taken some time to appreciate the charm of the house, but it took too much out of him just to remain standing. Just when he thought his legs might give out on him, the man led him out of the room they were in and into another one. This time, the man pushed him over to a sofa and Neal, with less grace than was his norm, fell into the seat. His shoulder hit against the back of the sofa, but Neal was able to contain the cry of pain that threatened to escape.

He sat there for what seemed like hours, the pressure in his bladder growing to near torturous proportions, before Silas Dmitri showed up with another man in tow.

"Danny, this is Dr. Kincaid. He's the one that patched up your shoulder and he's here to give you a checkup."

Neal couldn't help but be annoyed at the fact that Silas was acting as if everything was perfectly normal, that he hadn't kidnapped Neal and was in fact holding him hostage. To Dr. Kincaid's credit, he looked as if the whole situation was more than unpleasant. Neal had a sudden thought that perhaps he could use the doctor to get a message to Peter.

"Danny, how are you feeling?" the doctor asked, as he poked and prodded at Neal's various injuries.

"My name is Neal," Neal said for the third time. "Not Danny. And I feel like I've been in a car accident, shot in the shoulder, and then locked away in a closet for hours on end. That's how I feel."

Before he could say anything else, Silas spoke up. "Dr. Kincaid is here to take care of you, Danny, so you would do well to cooperate with him. And show some respect."

Dr. Kincaid continued to check Neal out thoroughly, before turning to Silas with a frown. "He's running a fever, Mr. Dmitri. His shoulder could be septic, so he needs some antibiotics."

"Well, then give him some antibiotics, doc," Silas said.

Dr. Kincaid turned back to Neal. "Are you allergic to anything, Danny?"

Neal immediately saw a chance to get a message to Peter with the doctor's question. "It's Neal, and yes, I am. I had a severe reaction to two different antibiotics last year, but I don't remember which ones. It's in my record at Mt. Sinai."

Dr. Kincaid turned back to Dmitri. "I can't give him any medication without verifying his allergies, Mr. Dmitri. If I gave him the wrong one, he could die."

Silas eyed Neal warily, as if he suspected that he was up to something. After much thought, he seemed to come to the conclusion that there was no point in the man making any of the allergy stuff up.

"Fine," he said. "I'm sure you can find a way to check with the hospital about his allergies without raising suspicion, right?

"It won't be a problem," Dr. Kincaid answered.

Neal felt a faint glimmer of hope that somehow Peter would be notified that someone was checking Neal's medical history. Once that happened, Dr. Kincaid wouldn't be hard to track down and Neal figured that he wouldn't be a hard egg to crack. Especially if Diana was around. That woman could be downright scary at times.

* * *

><p>Once the doctor was done with Neal's checkup, he left, promising that he would be back in a few hours with the appropriate medication for him. As Neal expected, Silas told his thug to take him back to his room.<p>

"Wait," Neal interrupted. "I really need to use the bathroom, if you don't mind."

Silas eyed Neal closely again, before turning back to the other man. "Shane, take him to the bathroom and don't take your eyes off of him, do you understand? Not for a second!"

Shane didn't look too happy at those instructions, but he grabbed Neal by the arm and led him to a bathroom on the second floor. Neal walked into the bathroom while Shane stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking everywhere but at the man he wasn't supposed to take his eyes off of. Neal used that to his advantage by taking a quick look around the bathroom, hoping to find something that could help him.

It wasn't until he was finished using the toilet and was in the process of washing his hands that he spied the pair of tweezers and a lone safety pin sitting on the counter. Pushing them deep into his pant pocket, he turned back to a red-faced Shane.

"I'm ready, if you are," Neal said with a smile.

Shane completely ignored him.

* * *

><p>Peter woke up feeling worse than he did before going to bed and he knew that his restless sleep had kept Elizabeth up, as well. His sleep had been riddled with different kinds of nightmares, all revolving around him being unable to help Neal out of various situations.<p>

He showered and dressed as fast as he could, wanting to get into the office and back to work immediately. He had already spoken with both Jones and Diana, neither of whom had anything new to report.

After a quick breakfast and cup of coffee, he gave his wife a kiss and left with her strict instructions to call the second he found out anything at all ringing in his ear. The commute to the FBI building at that time of the morning was usually long and dull, but Peter spent the whole time going over every single aspect of the case again and again. He was hoping that maybe they had missed something, but he knew that that was highly unlikely. He worked with some of the best people in the business and he knew that they were all very thorough.

Once he arrived at the office, he called a meeting to go over everything with the team. Just as he was finishing up a rehash of the case, a junior agent interrupted the meeting.

"Agent Burke? A call just came in from Mt. Sinai, sir," the agent said breathlessly.

Peter's heart sped up and he suddenly felt as if he should sit down, before his legs gave out and he ended up on the floor.

"Is it Neal? Is he there?"

The junior agent suddenly looked embarrassed at not realizing that the wrong conclusion might have been drawn from his statement. "No, sir…he's not there. Um…..apparently someone showed up at the hospital this morning asking to see Caffrey's medical records. His records had already been flagged, so they knew to call us immediately."

Peter felt a small spark of hope ignite inside of him. "Do we have the name of this person?"

"Yes, sir," the agent answered. "His name is Aiden Kincaid and he's a doctor."

Peter turned to his team with a fierce look in his eyes. "Find Dr. Kincaid!"

* * *

><p>Author's note: Sorry for the long wait. I think I'm still lagging a bit from the holidays, but it's getting better, lol. The next chapter shouldn't take quite so long.<p>

Thank you so much for reading and for reviewing. I would love to hear your thoughts on the story so far.


	6. Somewhere Along The Way

What He Does Best

Chapter 6

* * *

><p>Back inside the small room, Neal settled in to think everything over. He had a decent idea of just exactly what Silas had in mind and he definitely didn't want any part of it. Anything Silas Dmitri was involved in had the tendency to get him into trouble.<p>

Neal's thoughts soon focused on his memories of how his life changed once Silas had married his mother. On one hand, he couldn't remember ever seeing his mother so happy, but on the other hand, he couldn't remember ever being so sad himself. Once Silas moved into their house, Danny was either completely forgotten about or the intense focus of his new father's wrath. It seemed that he could never do anything right in the man's eyes and, more often than not, his mother seemed to take Silas's side. Danny spent as much time as he could away from the house, either spending time with his Aunt Ellen or hanging out with a few of his friends.

To his dismay, though, Silas suddenly seemed to want to keep him at home as often as possible. Danny was instructed to come straight home after school and was never allowed to leave the house. The times that he disobeyed were met with harsh punishment at the hands of Silas Dmitri. It broke the boy's heart that his mother would stand by and allow Silas to punish him so harshly.

Several months into the despair of his new life, Danny finally learned what Silas Dmitri was all about. He had never understood why the man was so interested in his artistic talent when everything else about him seemed to send the man into hateful rages, until one day just before his fourteenth birthday.

Danny walked home from school, walking as slowly as he could without getting himself into trouble for being late. Walking through the front door, he realized that there were two men sitting at the table, talking with Silas. He tried to sneak up the stairs to his room, but was stopped by the dreaded sound of his step-father's voice.

"Boy, get in here," Silas yelled.

Danny set his backpack down on the stairs and slowly walked into the kitchen. Silas pointed to an empty chair and he quickly sat down, hoping not to make the man mad.

"Danny, these are two of my work colleagues. I've been telling them how good you are at drawing things and they wanted to see for themselves."

Danny couldn't believe that Silas and his "colleagues" were actually interested in his art, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he just watched as Silas placed a sketch pad and a few charcoal pencils in front of him, followed by a postcard that he pulled out of one of the kitchen drawers.

"I want you to show them how good you are, boy. Copy this postcard, okay?"

Danny looked at the postcard, looked at the three men sitting in front of him, and then shrugged his shoulders. Seconds later, he started sketching the simple postcard, not bothered at all by the three men watching him so closely. Whenever he was drawing or painting, he tuned everything else around him out, focusing solely on what he was doing. Had he looked up at the two new men, he would have noticed how the looks on their faces changed from disbelief to absolute shock as he continued to draw.

Once he was done, he handed the drawing over to Silas, who handed it over to one of the men.

"See? I told you he was amazing. What do you think?"

Danny couldn't believe the words that came out of his step-father's mouth. _Did he really think that he was amazing? Was he actually proud of something that he had done? _ Before Danny could continue on in that vein of thought, one of the men spoke up.

"You were right, Dmitri. With the kid, we can move our plan along now. Everything's falling into place, finally."

Danny had no idea what was going on and before he could find out, Silas sent him to his room. Just before he stepped out of earshot, he heard the second man speak.

"Do you think he'll help us, Dmitri?"

"He doesn't have a choice," Silas answered. "If he knows what's good for him, he'll do exactly as I say."

* * *

><p>Neal had no idea how much time had passed since he had returned to the dark room. He had a watch on his wrist, but the room was pitch black, without even a sliver of light coming from underneath the door. For some reason, not knowing what time it was or how long he had been there was driving him completely mad.<p>

Neal knew that sensory deprivation was often used as a means of relaxation and sometimes as a way to heighten other senses or to even facilitate creativity. He had also read how sensory deprivation could be used as a means of torture. Sitting in a dark room, not even able to see your own hand in front of your face, and having no sense of time was definitely torturous for a man like Neal, who always had a robust sense of self-awareness and awareness of everything around him.

As he sat there, he couldn't help but think of the nearly four years he had spent in prison not so long ago. He remembered feeling as if he had lost his sense of self then, as well. Every day had been full of monotony and hopelessness. Every night had been full of the sounds of men crying in their sleep and of the past echoes of lives outside of cell bars. Each night before he climbed into his bed, Neal drew another tally mark on his cell wall, marking off the multitude of days that he had survived behind those cell doors. Sometimes he looked at those marks with a sense of awe, amazed that he was actually surviving in such a cruel place. Other times, the marks brought a sense of despair so overwhelming that it was all he could do not to drop to the floor in a sobbing heap.

Thinking about his time in prison reasonably led him to thinking of Peter Burke, the man that Neal so often thought of as his savior. Peter Burke was definitely an enigma, or as Mozzie would say, he was what happens when an enigma gives a paradox a very special hug.

Neal had no idea why Peter ever agreed to his proposition. He knew that the man had a healthy respect for his cleverness and intelligence after chasing him for so long, and he knew that Peter was desperate to catch the Dutchman. He was also aware that Peter knew Neal better than anyone had ever known him, really. Even better than Mozzie or Ellen. He knew that Neal's offer to help the FBI was steeped with his desire to find out what had happened to Kate. The man knew that Neal had ulterior motives, but he was still willing to take a chance on him. With that realization came a sudden desire to not disappoint Peter Burke. Neal was surprised to find that he really cared about what Peter thought of him.

As they continued to work together, even after the Dutchman had been caught, Neal began to realize that being on the right side of the law for a change wasn't that bad. Of course, he still liked to pull a con every now and then, but he was quickly learning that rightfully earning his way in life had a definite appeal, as well. For the first time in a long time, he felt truly good about what he was doing in his life.

Despite the fact that he liked the way things were going, he couldn't completely step away from his life as a con man. Neal had used his silver tongue, quick hands, natural charm, and ability to fit into whatever role he needed to for so long that it was a part of him, imbedded in his psyche. He often found himself using these traits without conscious thought, something that continually frustrated Peter.

Neal suddenly found himself smiling at the memory of Peter's frustration the day that he had walked downstairs to find him sitting on the couch with Elizabeth, petting Satchmo. That frustration hadn't lasted long, of course, but Neal could remember many more moments of frustration. He was pretty sure that Peter's hair had significantly grayed since their partnership began. _Maybe he should apologize for that when he saw Peter again._

Neal wasn't sure exactly when the partnership he shared with Peter evolved into something more, but somewhere along the way it had. It started with the first invitation to dinner he had received from Elizabeth, several months into it. There were also a few times that Elizabeth had insisted on Neal staying overnight at the Burke house when the weather was poor or he had had a bit too much to drink. He even remembered a time when he had come down with a cold and Elizabeth had insisted that he stay over so she could take care of him.

Another incident that changed their partnership was the infamous Howser Clinic debacle. Neal had been devastated to hear that June's granddaughter, Samantha, had been bumped off the kidney transplant list and had been determined to do whatever he could to help right that wrong. He had met Samantha on several different occasions and the two of them had immediately bonded over long games of Scrabble and Monopoly. Neal remembered being completely astounded that June felt comfortable enough with him to allow him to spend time with her granddaughter.

Wanting desperately to help, Neal had gone about things in a completely impulsive and reckless way, according to Peter. Getting caught inside the Howser Clinic had been a dangerous mistake in so many ways and Neal was thankful that Peter had caught on to his "Jimmy Burger" reference. He hadn't counted on being drugged and shackled to a gurney, and he definitely hadn't counted on Peter Burke stealing the surveillance tape that would have ultimately led to Neal going back to prison.

That had definitely been a turning point in their relationship, and Neal hated the fact that Peter had to go against his personal moral code to keep Neal out of trouble. He had, of course, sat through a very exhausting, relentless lecture on the consequences of poor decision making and impulsivity that had left his ears ringing for quite some time. Fortunately, Peter's lecture had been offset by the TLC heaped on him by Elizabeth that evening. _She really was one of a kind_.

That, of course, wasn't the only time that Peter had to bail Neal out of trouble. To be fair, Neal had bailed Peter out of trouble on several occasions, too, but it wasn't really the same. Those occasions were usually brought about by Neal's complete inability to follow Peter's orders, too. He definitely had a bad habit of taking matters into his own hands, despite the frequent Peter Burke lectures.

Somewhere along the way, Neal realized that Peter and Elizabeth had become a surrogate family to him. He vacillated between thinking of Peter as an over-protective, frustrating older brother and, believe it or not, a father figure. To think of Peter as a surrogate father was a little overwhelming to Neal, really. He had had two father figures in his life and both of them had turned out to be completely inadequate and disappointing. His real father had turned out to be a dirty cop who had murdered another cop, something that Neal had been shocked to find out when he was eighteen. Silas, of course, was a sadistic man who would do anything or hurt anyone to get what he wanted. Neal had learned that the hard way.

Peter Burke was a complete polar opposite of both of these men. His sense of morality, of what was right and wrong, was rock solid. He was an honest man who tried his best to live an honest life. That wasn't to say that the man wouldn't color outside the lines or bend the rules when needed, though. He respected the letter of the law, but he knew that justice wasn't always black and white, and that there were times when the black and white merged into shades of gray. Neal sometimes had to help him discern which shade of gray they were dealing with, but the man always did what was right.

As he sat there in the dark, Neal's heart ached at the complete realization of how much trouble he was in. He wondered what Peter was doing to find him and he trusted that the man was doing everything he could. He just wished that he would hurry up!

* * *

><p>Peter's frustration was growing by the second. The biggest lead they had so far was turning into the most difficult lead to follow. Jones had quickly researched Dr. Aiden Kincaid and had discovered that the man was a well-respected physician at the Lincoln Medical Center in the Bronx. He also discovered that the man had taken a sudden leave of absence, citing a dire family emergency as the reason.<p>

Unfortunately, Jones quickly discovered that the only family the man had was a younger sister who resided in a long term care facility for the mentally and physically handicapped. Peter immediately dispersed Diana and two other agents to the facility to see if Dr. Kincaid had recently been there.

Almost an hour later, he received a call from Diana, informing him that Dr. Kincaid had been there two days prior, but hadn't been seen since. Peter's heart fell at her words. He had desperately wanted to hear that she had found the man sitting next to his sister's bed, but instead they were right back at square one.

The rest of the day was much of the same. The agents that had been sent to check out Kincaid's house reported back that the house was empty and that there was no evidence of anyone being there recently. On their way out, Kincaid's neighbor had stepped out and informed them that the man had left on vacation over a week ago. Another dead end…..

An APB had already been placed on Kincaid, so Peter had nothing else to do but sit back and wait, hoping that someone would find the man soon. He felt a sudden desire to go home and see his wife, hoping that she could offer some sense of comfort to him. Leaving strict instructions for his team to call him the minute anything changed, he grabbed his jacket and went home.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth couldn't help the worry that had settled deep inside of her at the thought of Neal being out there all alone. Somewhere along the way, the young man had wormed his way into her heart and she cared deeply for him. She often felt a profound sadness wash over her at the thought of the life that Neal had led, and she found herself wanting to mother him. She knew very little of his childhood, but from what little her husband had told her, she knew that it wasn't ideal.<p>

Once Neal started to let his defenses down a little, she noticed a sweet, sad vulnerability about him. He seemed to soak up any tidbit of praise sent his way, especially if it came from Peter. He also seemed to wilt in the presence of Peter's disappointment, although the wilting was subtle enough that she doubted her husband even noticed. Peter didn't always catch onto things very quickly, especially if it involved emotions.

She also noticed a change in her husband lately. She was sure that the man wasn't even aware he was doing it, but on several occasions she had noticed him gazing at Neal with a look of what could only be called paternal pride. She wasn't sure when it had started, but somewhere along the way, Peter Burke had started to see Neal as more than just a partner.

She had listened as Peter talked about his partner's antics at work with a sense of amusing frustration. She had comforted him when he came home after a particularly harrowing operation, where Neal had undoubtedly been in some sort of danger. She had worried right along with him as they both watched Neal struggle to deal with first Kate's death and then Ellen's. She had watched as Peter's heart broke whenever Neal did something to land himself in trouble. She knew that Peter wanted to protect the young man, but sometimes Neal made it nearly impossible.

Having Neal in their lives had definitely changed them as a couple, much like when a child was added to a family. Elizabeth had spent many lonely nights when Peter was first chasing Neal. She had eaten dinner by herself more times than she could count while Peter and Neal were working on some case. She had opened her home and her heart to a con man who drove her husband to the brink of frustration on a daily basis. Any argument the two of them got into usually involved Neal Caffrey, in one way or another.

Despite the fact that their lives seemed to be in a constant state of upheaval, thanks to Neal, Elizabeth knew that she wouldn't have it any other way. Neal was family now.

* * *

><p>Once Peter got home, he gave his wife a peck on the cheek before heading up to take a long, hot shower. Before he made it up even a few stairs, his wife's voice halted him.<p>

"Peter Burke, don't even think about going upstairs without telling me what's going on."

Peter turned and gave Elizabeth a pathetic look. She could tell how exhausted he was, but her concern for Neal overruled her concern for that. She _needed_ to know what was going on.

"There's nothing new, El. We have a few leads, but they're really not going anywhere."

Elizabeth could hear the defeat in her husband's voice and it was breaking her heart.

"You'll find him, Peter. You always do. It's what you do best, remember?"

* * *

><p>Neal could hear voices right outside the door and he figured that someone was about to pay him a visit. He hoped that it was the man named Shane, but when the door opened he could tell that it was Victor. Without a word, the man walked in and grabbed Neal by the hair, pulling him to his feet. Neal was barely able to hold in the cry of pain he felt when Victor slammed his shoulder into the doorjamb on the way out.<p>

Once he was in the kitchen again, Neal wasn't surprised to find Silas staring at him.

"You're not looking too good there, Danny-boy," he said with a laugh.

Neal didn't respond, not trusting his voice to come out without squeaking. Instead, he stood as tall as he could and kept his eyes on Silas.

"Well, it seems that you don't find me quite so intimidating anymore, Danny, do you? Somewhere along the way you've grown a backbone."

"I'm not fourteen anymore," Neal said, happy to hear that his voice came out strong. "However, based on the number of times I've had to tell you that my name is Neal, I can tell that you're still just as stupid as you used to be."

Neal saw a look of pure rage flash over Silas, before he was subjected to a solid punch to his gut by Victor. Leaning over, Neal tried desperately to catch his breath, but before he could, another solid punch landed on his right kidney. That punch took Neal down to his knees and he struggled to get back up. Just as Victor looked like he was going to throw another punch, Silas stopped him.

"Leave him to me, Victor," he demanded.

Victor stepped back away from Neal just as Silas stepped forward.

"You never could learn to keep that mouth of yours shut, could you?! How about I help you figure out a way to do that? Just like the old days….."

Neal looked up just in time to be backhanded harshly across the cheek. His head was jerked sideways by the force of the blow and his ears were ringing intensely. Within seconds, another backhanded slap crossed his other cheek, wringing his head in the other direction. By this time, a few tears had leaked out of Neal's eyes, but he had yet to utter a single sound. He was able to hold himself together until he heard the unmistakable sound of a leather belt being pulled through the loops of the man's pants.

Suddenly, Neal felt as if he were his teenaged self again, helplessly facing a man that was twice his size. Without putting any thought into it, he quickly turned and ran from the room as fast as he could. Unfortunately, it wasn't fast enough.

* * *

><p>Peter woke up out of a dead sleep at midnight. He had been so tired that as soon as dinner was over he had allowed Elizabeth to lead him to bed. He had fallen asleep within minutes of his head hitting the pillow.<p>

Now, looking around the room, he wondered what had awoken him. Seconds later, he heard the distinctive sound of his phone vibrating on the table next to him. Sitting up, he grabbed the phone and without even taking the time to see who was calling him, he answered.

"Agent Burke."

"Peter, it's Jones. We found Kincaid!"

Peter sat up even straighter. "Where?! How did you find him?"

"We got a positive idea from our APB. Kincaid stopped at a convenience store in Rochester and a local police officer recognized the make and model of his vehicle. He's in custody and is on his way here, as we speak."

Peter stumbled out of bed, looking for his pants. "I'll be there as soon as I can," he told Jones.

After hanging up the phone, he continued the search for his pants. Stumbling around in the dark, he was surprised when the bedroom light suddenly came on.

"Peter? What's going on?" Elizabeth asked.

Peter looked up at his wife in excitement. "We just found the guy that's going to lead us to Neal, hon," he answered.

* * *

><p>Author's note: Whew! I'm sure glad they found Dr. Kincaid, aren't you? Peter needs to find Neal soon, because I think Silas is getting a little tired of dealing with him. It looks like things are about to get ugly for poor Neal, leading me to wonder why exactly I love Neal whump so much.<p>

Thanks so much for taking the time to read this story. I hope you're enjoying it and I would love to hear your thoughts on it. Take care.


	7. The Past Is Catching Up With Me

What He Does Best

Chapter 7

* * *

><p>Neal woke up to find himself inside the dark room with no idea of how he had gotten back in there. The last thing he remembered was trying to escape the wrath of Silas Dmitri. He had attempted to run out of the farmhouse, but in his weakened state he hadn't made it very far. In fact, he had barely made it out of the kitchen before Victor had grabbed him and forcefully led him back in to face his step-father. From that point on, Neal had only fragments of memory of what had transpired. In between the fall of Silas's fist and the fall of his belt, Neal had repeatedly blacked out. He realized now that the blackouts were a simple mercy, allowing him to keep his fragile mind intact.<p>

Taking another quick inventory of his injuries, he realized that things could be much worse. His shoulder was throbbing, most likely from when Victor had pulled him back into the kitchen. His face was throbbing, too, from the multiple punches that had been thrown his way. But, the worst of his injuries was the throbbing and burning in his back from where Silas's belt had fallen time and time again.

For some reason, being whipped by the man's belt again was worse than anything the man could have ever done to him. Neal couldn't help but remember every single time the man had punished him in such a way. Each fall of the belt had taken something from the young boy, so many years ago. Each time it happened, he had hoped with everything he had in him that his mom would come to him and comfort him. Each time, he was left alone to cry himself to sleep. That, more than anything, had been the worst of it.

Trying to take his mind off of the pain he was feeling, Neal's thoughts took him again to Peter Burke. He had witnessed the great Peter Burke in action many times and knowing that the man was undoubtedly doing everything he could to find him at that very moment made the aches and pains lessen a little. Neal couldn't stop himself from thinking again how much he owed Peter. He also couldn't stop himself from thinking that there was no way he could ever appropriately pay the man back for everything. All he ever seemed to do was shower the man with headaches and heartaches, something for which he felt extremely guilty about. Peter deserved so much better, and Neal was pretty sure that he would never live up to that.

Curling up in a tight ball, Neal allowed the despair he felt to wash over him. No one was around to witness the woeful shattering of the young man's heart.

* * *

><p>Entering the interrogation room, Peter eyed the young man before him very closely. Dr. Kincaid was the complete physical opposite of Neal Caffrey. He was shorter than the average man and had a stocky build, supported by abnormally short legs. His blond hair was straight and limp, his smile uneasy, and his nose a bit too long for his face. He sat before them in a wrinkled, off the rack suit, nibbling nervously on his fingernails. He obviously had none of the sophisticated charm that Neal possessed in spades.<p>

Peter introduced himself to the man and took a seat next to Jones and directly across from their potential witness. Peter could see the beads of sweat that were forming on the poor man's forehead.

"Dr. Kincaid, I'm not sure how much you've been told of what's going on, so I'm going to start from the beginning. My partner is missing and I think you might know where he is."

Aiden Kincaid didn't respond. Instead, he fervently fixed his attention onto his fingernails, studying them as if he didn't know who they belonged to. Peter cleared his voice and tried again.

"My partner, Neal Caffrey, went missing two days ago, Dr. Kincaid. I have reason to believe that he was taken by someone dangerous. I also have reason to believe that somewhere in the process of his kidnapping, he was shot."

Peter paid close attention to the man's face as he said those words, hoping to see some tell give the man away. He wasn't surprised when Kincaid suddenly stopped biting his fingernails and looked nervously up at him. _The man definitely knew something._

"What does any of this have to do with me, Agent Burke? I'm just a doctor. I work at Lincoln Medical and I'm usually in bed every night by nine o'clock. And I've never heard the name Neal Caffrey before. I think you might have mistaken me for someone else."

"Actually, Dr. Kincaid, I can prove to you that you have in fact heard my partner's name before. I'd even go so far as to say that you've treated him recently, probably for the gunshot I mentioned earlier."

Dr. Kincaid's face paled even further and he once again attacked one of his fingernails. Peter pulled his chair in even closer to the table and leaned as far forward as he could.

"Dr. Kincaid, when I became a FBI agent, I took an Agent Oath of Office, swearing that I would well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office I was appointed to. It seems that as a doctor, you have also sworn an oath, right? Non-maleficence? First do no harm? The Hippocratic Oath? Do these sound familiar?"

Peter waited for the man to answer, but after several long seconds, it was obvious that he wasn't going to.

"Dr. Kincaid, I believe that Neal is in a precarious position. I also believe that you know something about that. I can tell that you try to be a good man, so I'm asking you for your help. Please!"

The young doctor looked like he was about to say something, but he quickly shut his mouth, choosing instead to stare at his hands again. Peter could feel his patience growing thinner with each second that passed, knowing that his partner needed him. _His friend needed him_.

"Dr. Kincaid, we know about your sister. We know that she is in a special home for people with disabilities and we know that you've recently been looking into having her moved to a different facility. Is someone threatening her? Is that why you don't want to talk to us?"

Kincaid's shoulders slumped forward and he placed his head in his hands.

"I have to protect her, Agent Burke. She's the only family I have left and she can't protect herself. It's all up to me!"

"Dr. Kincaid….. Aiden….. I know how scared you must be, but we can help you. If you tell us what you know, we can get whoever is responsible for kidnapping my partner and threatening your sister. Let us help you, please!"

Peter put as much sincerity as he could into his voice, hoping that he could convince the terrified man. Kincaid looked like he was going to make a run for the door, but he didn't.

"You swear you'll help me protect her? I need to know that you won't let anything happen to my sister."

"We'll protect her," Peter answered. "We'll have guards standing outside of the building at all points of access and two guards directly outside of her room. We'll keep her safe."

Kincaid hesitated for a few seconds, but then looked up wearily at Peter. "Okay. I'll tell you everything I know."

* * *

><p>Neal was sleeping so soundly that he didn't hear the door open. He slept through Victor calling out his name, as well. It wasn't until the man's boot landed a swift kick to Neal's thigh that he woke up. Before he could get his bearings, Victor grabbed him by the hair again and lifted him up. Neal scrambled to his feet and tried to stay even with the man as he dragged him out of the room.<p>

Once they were through the kitchen, where Silas was silently sitting at the table, Victor led Neal into the bathroom. Neal wasn't prepared for the man to shove him into the shower and he certainly wasn't prepared for the stream of ice cold water that rained down on him. Victor threw a bar of soap at him and then stepped back to lean against the counter.

Neal tried his best to clean himself, struggling to get out of the wet clothes without falling down in the shower. Minutes later, he used the soap to wash his hair, being careful not to disrupt the laceration he felt on the side of his head. By the time he was done, his head was swimming, his shoulder was aching, and the welts on his backside were stinging.

Stepping out of the shower, Victor handed him a towel and then told him to get dressed. Neal looked around the bathroom, but all he found was the pile of wet clothing he had previously taken off. Having no other choice, he put the wet clothes on as fast as he could; a task that was made even more difficult by the now violent shivering of his body.

Once he was dressed, Victor led him back downstairs and shoved him down into a chair at the table, causing a small grunt of pain to escape him. Silas looked up at him with a derisive scowl on his face.

"Do you feel better, boy? I remember how important your grooming habits always were to you."

Neal didn't bother to answer the man, focusing instead on trying to get his shivering under control. He knew that any words that came out of his mouth at the moment would be weak and pathetic, so he held his mouth firmly shut.

"You always were an unappreciative little jerk, weren't you?!" Silas continued, "No matter what your mother and I gave you, it was never enough. Don't think I've forgotten that, Danny-boy."

Neal watched as Silas stood up and moved around to his side of the table. Not wanting the man to know just how afraid of the situation he was, Neal raised his head and looked him in the eye. "I appreciate the shower, but maybe next time I can get some dry clothes. And I could do without the goon ogling me, too."

Silas laughed at the look of fury that crossed Victor's face. "You can't blame the man for ogling you, Danny. After all, you are a beautiful man."

Neal felt like he might lose what little he had left in his stomach, but he didn't give either man the luxury of knowing how much those words sickened him. Instead, he decided it was time to find out what was going on.

"What are you doing, Dmitri? And why do you need me?"

Silas eyed the man before him, as he reclaimed his seat at the table. "Danny, I'm sure you can figure out what the plan is here, can't you? That rather significant intellect of yours always seemed to have a way of figuring things out."

"I'm not working for you, Dmitri, if that's what you're thinking. I don't do that kind of work anymore. I've left Danny far behind and I have a new life now."

"Do you, Danny? You've convinced yourself that that's true now? What about the recent debacle with the Mosconi Codex? It sure seemed to me like you were still in the business then."

"That was different," Neal argued. "There were things about that that you don't know. I'm out of the business now and I'm working for the FBI."

Silas laughed out loud at that. "I see that you're still conning everyone around you, Danny-boy. Even yourself, it seems."

"I'm telling the truth, Silas, so you might as well let me go. I can't help you with anything."

"That's where you got it all wrong, Danny. You're the only one that can help me with this and if you don't agree to it, someone dear to your heart is going to die."

Neal's face paled at that, wondering just who the man was talking about. He knew that Mozzie could take care of himself, as could Diana, Jones and Peter. He knew that Peter would take care of Elizabeth, too. The only one he was worried about was June, but he also knew that she was out of the country for at least another month, visiting her newest grandbaby. No one else in Neal's life really mattered that much to him, so he was at a total loss.

"Who are you talking about?" he demanded.

"Who do you think I'm talking about, Danny? I'm talking about your mother, of course."

Neal felt his stomach drop at these words. _His mother? How could that be? _The last time Neal had heard from his mother, she had been institutionalized for mental illness and drug dependency. Once a year he received a letter from the institution at a post office box Mozzie had set up for him, updating him on his mother's progress. Each letter informed him that there had been very little improvement in her condition.

Neal remembered that everything in his life had fallen apart the year he turned eighteen. After his mother and Silas were married, Tessa had been happy. At least for a little while. Eventually, Neal would come home to find his mother passed out on the couch with a bottle of whiskey in her hand and a bottle of pills on the table. When she was awake, she argued constantly with Silas, over anything and everything. Neal could remember several times that his mother had completely lost it, causing her to be admitted to the nearby hospital. Schizophrenia, they said. She'll be okay if she takes her medication, they said.

The only problem was that she sometimes decided she didn't want to take her medication. Those were definitely the worst times. Tessa Brooks-Dmitri without medication could be a violent person. Neal could remember at least two times that she had tried to harm herself and at least one time when she threw a lamp at Silas. Fortunately, for some unknown reason, she was never really violent with her son. She would yell at him, of course, and tell him to get out of her sight, but she rarely raised her hand to him.

Neal wasn't really sure how he felt about his mother, so Dmitri's statement left him feeling a little disconcerted. Deep down, he knew he loved his mother, but somewhere along the way he had figured out that his life was easier without her around. He had learned to rely more and more on his Aunt Ellen and his mother became a secondary figure in his life. Ellen wasn't too happy about the situation, but she knew that Tessa wasn't capable of taking care of her son.

Knowing now that his mother was in danger, Neal felt unbelievably sad. He knew that his mother's mental illness was something that she really didn't have any control over. Her drug and alcohol addiction stemmed from her mental illness, as well. She had never really developed any decent coping skills in her young life, so when she found herself to be a widowed mother of a little boy, she had no way of managing it. Neal knew that that was the reason for the line of men she had brought into their house and he knew that that was the reason she started drinking.

He often found himself unbelievably angry that she couldn't handle things better, but for the most part he just felt unbelievably sorry for her.

Turning his attention back to Silas, Neal stood his ground, staring the man straight in the eye.

"Where is she? What have you done with her?" he demanded.

"I haven't done anything to her…yet. And I _won't_ do anything to her if you cooperate with me," Silas answered. "For now, she's safe and sound."

Neal knew better than to trust the man, but he had no other choice at the moment. He figured that as long as he did whatever Silas wanted him to do, his mother would remain safe. With a sinking feeling, he realized that he really had no choice but to cooperate with the man. He only hoped that Peter would understand.

* * *

><p>By the time Kincaid was done talking, they knew who had taken Neal, but that was about it. Unfortunately, the good doctor had been blindfolded for the trip and had absolutely no idea where he had been taken. Peter was relieved to hear that Neal's injuries were stable at the moment, but he was concerned with the doctor talked about the possibility of infection. <em>They needed to find Neal quick!<em>

Once Peter found out the name of the man who had taken his partner, he sent Diana and Jones to dig up anything they could find. Dr. Kincaid said that Dmitri had been a patient of his for several years and other than being a little intimidating, this was the first time that he had been pulled into any sort of trouble. He also admitted to being a little shaken up by the apparent animosity the man held toward Neal. He didn't really know where they were keeping Neal within the house, but he could tell that they really weren't doing a good job of meeting the man's needs.

By the time he was done telling all that he knew, Dr. Kincaid had apologized profusely for not being able to help more. Peter truly appreciated that and tried to make the man understand that he was thankful for the information they had. After making sure that he had Kincaid's contact information, he allowed the man to leave, promising that they had already dispatched several agents to watch over his sister.

Almost an hour later, Diana and Jones entered Peter's office. Neither of them were too eager to sharewhat little they had uncovered about Silas Dmitri, especially since what they discovered wasn't good.

Silas Dmitri was a shady character, to say the least. His employment history was full of temporary jobs and it seemed that the man had been fired from most of them. He had failed to pay taxes for several years and was on his way to jail when he suddenly paid all of his back taxes in one lump sum. There was no traceable evidence of where the money actually came from.

As for family, the man had been married and divorced three times in his lifetime. He had no biological children of his own and only one step-child of record. Peter, Diana, and Jones had been shocked to see that Dmitri's step-son was none other than Danny Brooks, aka one Neal Caffrey.

Peter wasn't surprised that Neal hadn't ever told him about his step-father. He knew that the kid was embarrassed by the facts of his childhood and he knew that Neal would never want anyone to feel sorry for him. Which, of course, was exactly what Peter was feeling at the moment.

If anyone deserved a loving, comfortable, _normal _childhood, it was Neal. Instead, his childhood was such that he felt the need to learn how to con people to survive. Not for the first time, Peter wondered what kind of man Neal would have become if his childhood had been different. He already had such a kind heart and he was selfless in a lot of ways. When he loved someone, he loved deeply and without reservation. He would do anything for those he cared about. Peter knew now that these qualities were, without a doubt, thanks to Ellen. She was the only constant, virtuous being in young Neal's world, and Peter wished that he had had the opportunity to thank her.

Bringing his thoughts back around to the situation at hand, Peter, Diana, and Jones continued to look into Silas Dmitri. They needed to know everything they could about the man if they were going to be of any help to Neal.

* * *

><p>Author's note: I would love to hear your thoughts on the chapterstory. Questions? Concerns?

Anyway, thanks so much for reading. I hope you're enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing.


	8. The Lost And The Lonely

What He Does Best

Chapter 8

* * *

><p>Neal lay on the cold floor, his head spinning and his heart pounding. He couldn't stop the tremors that were shooting through his body and causing his teeth to chatter. Although he was freezing, his skin was hotter than he could ever remember it being and his eyes actually burned when he closed them. He knew he was running a fever, most likely from the gunshot wound to his shoulder. He also figured that he was dehydrated, since the man holding him captive didn't see fit to actually offer him enough food and water to do him any good.<p>

He had no idea just how long he had been there, but figured it had to at least have been three days. In that time, he had been given a single bottle of water and two different trays of barely edible food. He could tell by how parched his mouth was and by the fact that he hadn't felt the need to urinate for a while as proof that the dehydration was worsening.

_What was Dmitri playing at? How could he be expected to help with anything if he was so severely dehydrated that he couldn't function?_

As he lay there, his mind drifted through different memories, flitting around like a butterfly in a field of flowers. He tried to keep his focus on what was happening around him, but more often than not, his clouded mind took him back to the days he had spent with Dmitri and his mother. So many memories that he wished he could forget.

Dmitri was a nasty man from the very first day that Danny had met him. Neal remembered clearly how the man had acted like he was in charge from the very first moment he stepped foot in the house. He also remembered how his mother had submitted so easily to the man, always choosing him over her own son. This hadn't bothered Danny all that much, in the beginning, since his mother hadn't been that great at taking care of him, anyway. What did bother him, though, was when Dmitri became physically aggressive towards him and his mother did nothing about it.

Danny's fear of the man increased on a daily basis in those days. He never knew when something he did or didn't do would set the man off on a rampage. Of course, he spent as much time as he could away from home or up in his room, but the time would inevitably come when he had to face the man. It seemed that those times never ended well for the poor boy.

Silas Dmitri acted as if Danny was the biggest nuisance he had ever encountered. Anytime Danny needed anything at all was met with derision and scorn, until the boy had learned not to ask for anything. Luckily, his Aunt Ellen was always there for him. He had done his best to hide the fact from her that things were so bad at home, because he knew that if she found out it would only cause an even greater rift between her and his mom and that was the last thing he wanted.

Neal remembered how things had come to a head one afternoon when he had been arrested for shoplifting. He had recently gone through a growth spurt and was tired of being teased at school about his pants being too short for him. He had already successfully lifted several pairs of pants at one department store, but was caught in the act of stealing a pair of sweatpants at another store.

When the security guard asked for his parent's phone number, he didn't hesitate to give the man his Aunt Ellen's number instead. He knew she would be furious with him, but it was better than the alternative of having Dmitri find out.

When Ellen arrived, she was indeed completely furious with the boy.

"Danny? Are you okay?" she asked, looking the boy over from head to toe.

"Yes, ma'am," Danny replied.

"What were you thinking, young man?! Never mind…..it's obvious you weren't thinking at all! So, explain to me why you thought it was necessary to steal a pair of ten dollar sweatpants."

Danny knew that he couldn't tell her the truth that he needed the sweatpants for gym class and he was too afraid to ask his mother or Silas for them. Instead, he just stared at the floor, wishing that he could disappear.

"I expect an answer, Danny!" Ellen exclaimed.

Neal's eyes shot up to her face, surprised at the anger he heard in her voice, but still too afraid to tell her the truth.

"I-I don't know," he stammered. "I guess I just wanted them."

Ellen's anger intensified at his answer, but before she could say anything the security guard interrupted.

"Ma'am, it looks like this is the young man's first offense, so the store is prepared to let him off with a stern warning. I'm sure that you will handle things on your end, right?"

"Yes, I will definitely handle things on my end. Danny? Apologize, please."

Danny spent the next minute apologizing to the man and thanking him for not pressing charges against him. Eventually, it was time to leave and face the obviously angry woman beside him. Once they were outside the building, Ellen led him straight to her car, without saying a word. Once they were inside, she waited for Danny to buckle his seatbelt before turning to him.

"What's going on, Danny? I'm not buying the excuse that you took the sweatpants just because you wanted them. Something else is going on."

When Danny didn't answer her, she started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Where are we going?" Danny asked her quietly.

"I'm taking you home and you're going to explain what happened to your mother," Ellen answered.

"NO!" Danny cried. "Please, Aunt Ellen…..we can't tell mom."

Ellen pulled the car over and turned to look at him. "What do you mean, Danny? You were caught shoplifting. We can't keep that from your mother."

"Please!" Danny pleaded. Please, I'll never steal again, I promise. You can't tell her."

"Danny Brooks, what has gotten into you?! Why are you so afraid to tell your mother? Yes, she's going to be upset with you. Yes, you'll probably be grounded for a few weeks, but it won't be the end of the world."

Danny pleaded with her again, but Ellen's mind was made up. Minutes later, they pulled up to his house and Danny's heart sank at the sight of his step-father's truck in the driveway. He had held out the slightest bit of hope that the man wouldn't be home, but that hope quickly vanished.

Neal could remember what happened next like it was just a few days ago. He had followed Ellen into the kitchen, lingering just inside the doorway as she explained what had happened to Tessa and Silas. He silently watched as his step-father's face turned more and more red, his own face paling by comparison.

He listened as Ellen tried to explain what had happened, expressing her belief that something more was going on than just a young man taking something just because he wanted it. He knew she was wasting her breath and, in fact, seemed to be making Silas even angrier. Tessa looked at her son with obvious disappointment and her husband with obvious fear. Eventually, Silas interrupted Ellen and told Danny to go to his room.

Once he was in his room, Danny listened carefully to what was going on downstairs. He could hear the muffled sounds of voices, but couldn't make out anything that was being said. Eventually, he heard the front door open and close and knew that Ellen had left. With nothing left to do, he sat nervously on the edge of the bed, listening for the dreaded sound of his step-father's footsteps on the stairs.

His stomach flipped anxiously when he heard Silas climbing the stairs. Seconds later, the door opened to reveal the angry man. Danny's stomach flipped again when he saw the belt coiled tightly in the man's hand.

"I-I'm sorry," he blurted out before the man was even completely in the room.

"You're sorry? Really? How stupid are you, boy? You're pathetic!"

"I'm not stupid," Danny said boldly. "And I'm not pathetic!"

"Yes, you are. You can't even steal a pair of sweats without getting caught. That's pretty pathetic."

Danny didn't answer, choosing instead to stare at his hands.

"Listen to me, kid. Tomorrow you're going back to the store and you're going to try again."

Danny looked up at his step-father, stark confusion covering his face. "What?!"

"You heard me…tomorrow you're going back to the store and you're going to steal those sweats. This time without getting caught."

"I can't do that," Danny cried. "If I get caught, they'll arrest me!"

"Then don't get caught," Silas said. "Think of this as a bit of a test, Danny-boy. A test you'd better not fail if you know what's good for you."

"Silas, I can't do that," Danny pleaded.

"You can and you will," Silas demanded before grabbing Danny's arm and pulling him to his feet.

Neal remembered that thrashing as being one of the worst he had ever experienced.

* * *

><p>Neal didn't know how long he had been asleep, but when Victor came in to get him, using his usual ploy of kicking him in the thigh to wake him, he found it nearly impossible to wake up. He struggled to open his eyes and keep them open, but he couldn't. He also found it impossible to move out of the way of Victor's repeated kicks.<p>

Eventually, Victor left the room, but minutes later the door opened again. Silas strode into the room, surprised to see that the young man wasn't bluffing. Taking in the sight of the bruised and battered body, he realized that he needed to do something if he wanted his plan to work. Turning to Victor who was standing in the doorway, he did the only thing he could possibly do.

"Get Kincaid. Now!"

* * *

><p>Peter sat at his dining room table with a stack of papers in front of him. He had spent the last several hours looking through everything they had on Silas Dmitri. The more he read about the man, the more he realized what a nasty piece of work he was. Knowing that this man had been a part of Neal's childhood was terrifying, but it also explained a little about how Neal had ended up on the path he had. Another part of him wondered at the fact that Neal was the man he was. His childhood had obviously been chaotic and confusing, but Neal had grown into an intelligent, caring man who loved easily and whole-heartedly. He was definitely a walking, talking paradox of human virtue.<p>

Just as he was shuffling through the papers again, he heard the unmistakable sound of his wife's heels clicking down the stairs.

"Hey, hon," she said as she placed a kiss on the top of his head. "Anything new?"

"No…..nothing," Peter answered.

"I'm sorry, hon," Elizabeth said gently. "You'll find him, Peter. You always do."

"I _will _find him, El, but what shape will he be in when I do? It's already been over ninety-six hours and we know that Neal's been shot. What if I'm too late? Dmitri is a dangerous man."

"Peter, Neal will be okay. He's a fighter, remember?"

Peter nearly laughed at that. Neal was definitely a fighter. He was also the most intelligent man he had ever known. He just hoped that Neal's sense of self-preservation was intact enough to ensure that the kid kept his silver tongue and cocky attitude in check.

Just as Peter stood up from the table his phone rang. "This is Burke."

"Boss, I just got a call that our Dr. Kincaid is on the move. The two agents watching him said that Kincaid had a visitor about twenty minutes ago and then grabbed his medical bag and left with the man. They're currently tailing him."

"Diana, I want you in continuous contact with our guys. And tell them they better not lose Kincaid."

"You got it, boss," Diana answered. After a moment's hesitation, she continued. "We're going to find him, Peter. This is it."

"I hope so, Diana," Peter said quietly. "I hope so."

* * *

><p>Neal felt someone manhandling him, but didn't have the strength to fight it. His body was on fire, yet he felt like he was chilled to the bone. His mouth was so dry that his tongue stuck to his teeth and his lips were cracked. Every joint in his body ached fiercely and his chest burned with every breath he took. He was in dire shape, his mind unable to focus on what was happening, but somehow he knew that he was at the mercy of a madman.<p>

After what seemed an eternity of jostling, Neal felt himself sinking into a soft surface. A bright light shone down on him, but his eyes were still refusing to open. He could hear voices, but they sounded so distant that he couldn't understand anything they were saying.

He felt someone taking his shirt off and he tried unsuccessfully to stop him. _Why were they taking his clothes? Didn't they know how cold he was?_ _Didn't they see him shivering_?

Neal felt someone straightening his arm out and then felt a sharp prick of pain. Minutes later, he felt his grasp of consciousness slowly and blissfully slipping away.

* * *

><p>Author's note: Okay, okay…..I give you all permission to be totally annoyed with me, but I ask your forgiveness. Twice now, I've had this chapter almost completed when my lovely computer decided to crash. Grrrr…technology can be so frustrating. Anyway, it's a little shorter than normal, but I hope to have another chapter up in the next few days.<p>

Thanks for reading and for being patient. I would love to hear your thoughts on the chapter and on the story in general.


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